


Lacuna

by Sangreal



Series: Lacunaverse [1]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, And Astronomy, Deirta Thelyss's A+ Parenting, Disabled Character, Dysfunctional Family, Essek Thelyss-centric, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death, Now Featuring Some Comfort for That Hurt, Panic Attacks, Pining, Playing Fast and Loose with Cosmology, Playing Fast and Loose with Dunamancy, Poor Life Choices, Porn With Plot, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rated M Otherwise, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, Tags Noted There, Temporary Character Death, Torture, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, explicit only in the last chapter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:13:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 94,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26557930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sangreal/pseuds/Sangreal
Summary: He knew he was doomed.  There was a sharpness in her gaze that only appeared when she was gearing herself up for battle.  Tempers flared.  And maybe… maybe he wanted to be caught.  Maybe he wanted it to be his own people who decided his fate.  Maybe he was just… Tired.
Relationships: Essek Thelyss & Caleb Widogast, Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast, Essek Thelyss/Original Male Character(s), Referenced Bren Ermendrud/Astrid Beck, The Mighty Nein & Essek Thelyss
Series: Lacunaverse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2042305
Comments: 314
Kudos: 470





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> YO. First submission ahoy!
> 
> CWs: Torture is described in detail, but I don't think the violence level escalates significantly past canon typical levels. Mentions of lacerations, broken bones, bleeding/blood, bodily waste, and vomiting, magic as a torture instrument. Abuse is largely emotional manipulation, and a parent slapping their child on more than one occasion. 
> 
> (UPDATE: If any of that makes you squeamish feel free to skip to Ch. 2, which deals with the fallout, but does not go into any explicit details.
> 
> UPDATE 2: E rating is for Chapter 10 only, all other chapters are M max)
> 
> Canon compliant up to ep. 108, might end up working past 109, but no promises. Unbetad because I am a noob and have no idea where one finds a beta lol. I've read and re-read this way too many times, but if I missed something let me know and I'll fix it. 
> 
> I have a tentative plan for both big story development and lots of comfort if people like it? Or it can stay as a one shot study in Essek whump if folks aren't feeling it. Let me knooow~

Essek had never expected forgiveness, or tenderness, or _pity._ It was those things that kept him up at night, dug their claws into his mind and refused to allow him peace. The place on his forehead where Caleb’s lips touched his skin burned like a brand, hours later. 

He didn’t want to care. He didn’t want to _want_. Wanting was dangerous. Even more so now. 

Soft laughter and gentle touches, brushes of fingers and shoulders and little crow’s feet scrunching in the corners of pale blue eyes as they spoke of dunamancy, of creation, of _light._ It was safe. Compartmentalized. There was never going to be anything between them, anything intentional. Even if his pupil was not a human, an _imperial_ human, he was still his pupil. His ward. His job. So fleeting want and lingering glances were all he had ever allowed himself. 

He supposed Caleb would not permit even that, now. And if he mourned the loss of anything from his crimes, it was that.

They only spoke privately once more before parting ways. Essek couldn’t shake the feeling that it would be forever. He wanted to say something. Anything. To tell Caleb how he felt. How he hurt. How he regretted… So much. 

“We are leaving for Rumblecusp in the morning. Are you coming with?”

“Ah, no… I don’t think that would go over very well with your friends.” The setting sun was the color of blood. Even he, landlocked as he had been raised, had heard the old sailor;s rhyme about red sunsets being benign. This one didn’t feel benign though. 

“They’re your friends too, Essek. A fight doesn’t change that. They just… need to process.” He sounded like he was speaking from experience, and a twinge of unprompted sympathy had Essek averting his gaze. 

Essek smiled, tight and resigned. “Perhaps. Alas, my Queen will be expecting me back at court. There is much to do still.” It was a smoke screen. An excuse. To hide the hurt and certainty that he was Not Wanted. They both knew it. He wasn’t sure why Caleb expected him to keep up their humiliating charade. 

Caleb’s expression shuttered, carefully schooling into a mask of ambivalence that only managed to speak more loudly of his disappointment. He jerked his head in a facsimile of a nod.

Essek sighed, yearning to soothe the look away. “I’m sorry. Truly, I am. I’m sure your adventures would be much… more amusing? Than my duties at court. But I can’t risk drawing more attention to myself than I already have.”

“Of course.” It was cold and clipped, and a little part of Essek died inside. 

“I’m sorry. Caleb--” His shaking hands reached out for the lapel of Caleb’s coat, to prove how sorry he was, but found nothing but air as Caleb slipped out of his reach with a pained expression. It was just as well, he didn’t deserve Caleb’s forgiveness. “Right… yes, well…” He turned to leave, smoothing his unsteady hands over his blouse with jerky, coltish limbs that suddenly didn’t want to cooperate. He was stopped by a hand on his arm. It always landed in the exact same place.

“Not yet,” Caleb whispered. “I’m not ready yet.”

Essek wasn’t sure if he meant for him to leave, or… the other thing. He wondered if, perhaps, Caleb thought this would be their last time together too.

“It’s fine. I understand.” He understood nothing.

They fell into an uneasy silence, staring in the vague direction of one another. The salt air stung Essek’s eyes, and he told himself that’s why he had to keep blinking. Caleb never released his arm. It was hot like fire biting through the fine silk of his jacket. All of Caleb was hot, it seemed. A chemical reaction between his body and Essek’s own, combustion seared into his skin. Essek could almost imagine that hand tightening, pulling him in. Their breath hot and mixing in the potential until the space between them was too much to bear and he couldn’t resist closing it and-

Caleb cleared his throat, and Essek snapped from his wandering thoughts with a start. Caleb wouldn’t meet his eyes. _He knows_. Cold shame settled in the pit of Essek’s stomach like lead, and he jerked himself free from Caleb’s grasp. “Don’t die,” he said, even though he wanted to say something else. He apologized once more, trying not to choke on the words as he stumbled away, knowing full well that he was fleeing with his tail tucked squarely between his legs. 

\---

After court recessed, the Umavi pulled Essek aside before he could escape the Bastion and slink back to the solitude of his towers. He looked down the corridor from whence he came, praying to any god that might hear that he might see someone he could excuse himself to flag down. No answer to his prayer came. 

“You have been spending too much time with those outsiders, Essek. People are talking.”

Even when he levitated several inches taller than her, she still somehow managed to peer down her nose at him. “People are talking, or _you_ are talking?”

The air around them turned frigid with her glare. “I am going to give you five seconds to amend that egregiously disrespectful comment.”

"I’m-” (Not sorry, not sorry, not sorry). “What do you require of me Umavi?”

She waved a dismissive hand, momentarily placated, “The Bright Queen’s banquet. You’ve been neglecting your duties to your den, and will be expected in attendance. And I want you to bring someone with. You are young, handsome, and successful. It won’t do to have you skulking about like a wraith at the most important celebration of the year, if not the decade.” She smoothed her hands over his mantle, straightened his chain of office as if equal parts proud of his station, and utterly unimpressed with his capacity for dressing himself.

“As I recall, you specifically _banned_ me from bringing a partner with me at the _last_ gala you forced me to attend.”

She made a tutting noise low in her throat, and gave the heavy chain around his neck a tug, forcing him to bow his shoulders to look her in the eye. “I banned you from choking yourself on the tongue of that Tasithar boy in the middle of the royal gardens where absolutely anyone under the Luxon’s light might see you. Honestly Essek, you’re supposed to be the smart one.”

He swallowed down a sharp retort, “You know I have no stomach for parties, mother. My absence will be no great loss. If anything, the night will be better for it.”

She bristled and collected herself to her full height, jabbing an accusing finger into his chest. “It is not about your desires, it is about your _duty_ , Essek. The world is bigger than your magic, and your books, and your… _humans."_ The last word was said with such venom that he had to bite his tongue to stop himself from defending Caleb and Beau and making the deteriorating situation worse.

“That isn’t--” He cut himself off with a sigh, “Please, I beg you accept my refusal, it would be better for everyone if I stayed away.”

She laughed, cruel and sharp like a barking dog. “Listen to you, whining like a child. Even after everything I’ve done for you, you still defy me. Your _brother_ understands respect, understands the importance of _family_.”

So do I, he thought grimly. But the woman he was looking at was hardly family. 

Apparently dissatisfied with his projected apathy, the Umavi took his silence as a cue to continue, “Essek, I must insist. It would look positively dreadful if you did not attend. What would the other dens think? What would the _Queen_ think? You are her Shadowhand, to ignore her summons is tantamount to spitting in her face.”

“Is your vanity so much more important than my safety?”

She chucked, and he found himself hating the sound as much as he had as a twenty-something. “Why, pray tell, would your safety be in jeopardy from attendance to a royal event celebrating _peace_?”

“Mother, _please_ -”

“Do not ‘Mother’ me. It is your duty, your _responsibility_ , to ensure the safety of everyone in attendance of state functions, particularly Her Radiant Highness. Have you reason to believe that you have _failed_ in this solemn task, Shadowhand _Thelyss_?”

“ _She_ will be fine!”

The silence that followed left his ears ringing and his chest heaving. 

“Then what? What have you done now, you stupid boy?”

He knew he was doomed. There was a sharpness in her gaze that only appeared when she was gearing herself up for battle. Tempers flared. And maybe… maybe he wanted to be caught. Maybe he wanted it to be his own people who decided his fate. Maybe he was just… Tired. 

\--

There was, he couldn’t help but think, a grim justice in the Umavi being the one to drag him before the Queen. Selling out her own son in an attempt to get ahead of the scandal. Distance herself, and the involvement of her precious den. 

When he was presented to the court in manacles, a stern woman in a long mantle already stood at the Queen’s side in his place. She was from Mirimm, he thought, trying to place her, his mother must have hated it. Small blessings. 

His mother swept across the room and took a knee in front of the Queen. The prostration was somewhat lessened by her insistence in wearing her finest clothes, her most prized jewels. As if presenting the wealth and success of Thelyss would absolve her of her son’s crimes. Maybe they would. After all, Kryn and Thelyss had lived together through many lifetimes. Essek was but one small stain. There would not be even two centuries worth of records to strip him from. He was nothing to these beings of light and power. 

“Your Majesty,” his mother started from her place of abasement, “Den Thelyss offers you a great boon. A thief in the night, a traitor to his country. Essek, former Shadowhand to the Crown, soon to be former son of Den Thelyss, has abused his station for personal gain, conspired with foreign operatives, stolen priceless holy artifacts, and committed sacrilege in his perverted attempts to subject the holy Beacons of the Luxon to scientific experimentation at the hands of our enemies. I offer him to you now to face judgement for his crimes against the state and church.”

He did not deny the accusations. There would be no trial for him. There was only ever one sentence for traitors and it was no surprise when death rang through the hall. 

\---

Essek was nauseous, disoriented and cold, half stumbling, half dragged down the spiraling stairs that led to the bowels of the Dungeon of Penance. It was the first time he had ever taken this journey with no dunamancy to buffer him from the overwhelming magic of the descent. The first time he had no shoes to protect his feet from the rough, freezing stone. The first time he did not have a multitude of layers of thick, fine fabric covering every inch of his body. Deeper and deeper they went, past any of the Kryn renovations into the black abyss of Ghor Dranas.

The faceless guard to his left released his arm long enough to open a cell door which he could barely see, and shoved him roughly inside. He stumbled, flailing in the grip of the guard to his right. Both laughed.

Chains were drawn through loops in the ceiling, and then affixed to the anti-magic cuffs binding his wrists. With little warning, and a jarring yank, his arms were drawn taught in opposite directions, and he was forced to perch precariously on the balls of his feet to keep the pressure off of his shoulder joints. It only took moments for his legs to ache from the effort. 

He was left there, in the pitch black, with no food, no water, and no idea if anyone would be coming for him, or if it was his fate to rot, utterly forgotten.

\---

Essek heard footfalls descending the stairs for the first time in… he couldn’t tell how long. He had little to go on other than the humiliation of soiling his trousers multiple times when no one came to offer him respite, the painful lurch of his empty guts, and the sticky, sandpaper quality of his parched tongue.

He was blinded by a sudden flash of light turning the corner and cried out in surprise and pain, squeezing his eyes shut. 

It took him an embarrassingly long time to gradually peek through squinting lids and allow his eyes to adjust to the forms swimming at the edges of his bleary vision. He found himself face to face with his replacement, and something cold and resigned settled in his gut. The woman was older than him, with shrewd gold eyes and a sharp bob that ghosted over the glinting metal adorning her shoulders. She wore no mantle now, just a sharply tailored suit. She held herself like a soldier, he thought, with hands clasped rigidly behind her back. Two Aurora Watch soldiers flanked her, along with another unadorned jailer smirking at him over her shoulder from the hall.

“Good morning, Essek,” she said, as if they were sitting down to tea, “I am Jezzara Mirimm, Shadowhand of Her Majesty, Leylas Kryn. I am here to take your statement.”

He had no interest in subterfuge, had long since given up on any attempts at hiding his guilt. There was no one under the Luxon’s forsaken light that had been involved in his conspiracy to whom he had any loyalty. “I am at your disposal, Shadowhand,” he said, the words raw after so long without speaking. 

“Indeed you are. I do not tolerate games. You can submit to my magic, or it will be forced upon you. The end result will be the same regardless. However, if you behave poorly, your daily ration will be withheld. It is purely a matter of your own comfort whether you fight me or not.”

“I am at your disposal, Shadowhand,” he repeated, voice hollow.

She cast her spells, and the taste of metal settled sharp on his tongue. He told her everything she asked for. About the beacons. The Assembly. Tasithar. He was rewarded with a few messy sips of a flavorless broth that dribbled down his chin as much as into his mouth. He was too thirsty to care. 

\---

This continued on over the course of multiple visits. Talking until he was hoarse and rewarded with tepid broth spilled half down his front. How he had worked alone, his den was not involved. He had no more knowledge of the Angel of Irons cult than anyone else, only that which the Mighty Nein had shared with him, and he with the Queen. He had never betrayed the Queen before that fateful day, and had served her loyally since. Had never lied about matters of state save to hide his betrayal.

He assumed these visits took place once per day, but he had given up on trying to ascertain the passage of time in the unending dark. A small voice in the back of his mind, which sounded suspiciously like his mother, whispered that perhaps time was not his specialty after all. 

\---

For a week (or, at least, a week in his mind, there had been seven visits) he spilled everything they asked, until their questions inevitably turned towards the Mighty Nein. The Nein were not a part of his treachery. The Nein were as loyal as he had ever reported them to be. He grew more and more ill at east the more intimate the questions probed. Until he refused to speak at all. 

The Shadowhand did not hesitate to change her tactic. Swiftly and brutally. He dimly admired her for her dedication.

“What did you teach the Scourger?”

When his silence dragged on too long for her liking, she flicked her wrist in precise strokes that, under any other circumstances, he might have commended. His technical admiration was cut short when his body was yanked downward into a well of gravity. His wrists caught in their shackles and two loud pops echoed in his cell as his shoulders wrenched out of place. He bit through his tongue.

“What did you teach the Scourger?”

There was a glint of steel and something hit him in the face. Sticky blood oozed from his scalp into his eyes, into his mouth. It was a lot of blood, he observed, though scalp wounds often bled severely. She was speaking again, but all he could hear was a roaring in his ears as his vision went grey at the edges.

_His mother stands before him, towering over him in her glory. She’s angry. About… something. He’s not sure what. He rarely is. He clutches his book to his chest and tries to fight back tears. If not for himself then for Verin, whom he knows is hiding behind the door to the drawing room._

_“You are_ nothing _Essek. You have no old soul to elevate you in this sacred space. If you want something, you must take it. If you want to be someone, you must carve that someone out with tooth and claw because no one will help you, and no one will lift you up if you fall. You must prove yourself worthy of respect or you will die forgotten. Do you understand, child? Love does not perfection make. The pursuit of perfection begets perfection. Do not waste your time with regret and longing._ Take _. Take, for you shall not be given.”_

He regained awareness some time later, soaking in a puddle of piss and blood and snot, sobbing through clenched teeth. The cell was dark, and he was alone. He had never pitied those he inflicted similar treatment upon. He still didn’t. He deserved this more than anyone. 

\---

“Essek. I have seen men like you before, and I can help you. The sooner you tell me what I want to know, the sooner I can let you die. The only reason you are being kept alive is because the Bright Queen needs assurances. We need to know how deep your corruption goes, and five questions pulled from a mangled corpse will not suffice in putting her mind at ease.”

“They have nothing to do with this, I _swear_.”

She sighed, and with her magic squeezed. One by one, he heard as much as felt his ribs snap. When each broken bone was met with silence, she would move down to the next. And when he had no more ribs to break on one side of his chest, she moved on to the other.

He had lost track of the days. (Caleb would know. Caleb would know how many days it had been). He lost track of everything but the tired inventory of wounds he held as sacred as a prayer in the dark. The way his arms went numb. The way his shoulders sloshed freely from their sockets. How the scabs of his flayed scalp stretched and split open at the slightest movement. The searing pain of exposed bone piercing through the mutilated skin of his nose. Blood sticking raw in his mouth with no water to wash it away. Every breath searing painfully in his chest like fire. The ache of old scars and rods in his legs, secret and shameful, and no magic to ease the pain. 

“What did you teach the Scourger?” She asks.

What did you tell the Expositor?

Did you know about the Spy?

When were you compromised?

Did you fuck?

Did you _love_? (As if that was the most grievous of all of his sins). 

\---

Essek was taken from his cell, and he thought _finally_ it was time to die. They had grown bored of his silence, and deemed him no longer useful. There was no strength left in his legs to hold him steady, and so he was dragged to his fate on dislocated shoulders.

The brightness of the office was painful after so long in complete darkness. When his eyes adjusted, he groaned in disappointment. Of course she would not see him in the dungeon. She was perfect. Pure. Clean. Everything Essek was not. And she sat before him now like a harbinger, all fine white gossamer and dark fury. She had even dragged Verin along, who had the audacity to look apologetic.

“Essek.”

“Umavi.”

“The Queen informs me that you are being _difficult_.”

He had to laugh, “I have been nothing if not candid in all-” he lurched, abruptly, body spasming. The blood could have come from any number of wounds, all he knew was it had found its way into his throat, choking him and causing a violent coughing spell which was only eased when a thick clot dribbled down his chin. He could not wipe it away, and so continued on as if it had not happened, bolstered by the horrified disgust painted across the Umavi’s features, “-in all matters of state.”

“Why defend foreigners and mercenaries? You are a dead man walking, Essek. What could you _possibly_ hope to gain?” 

What indeed. She was too busy curating the most poignant look of disgust she could muster to notice the look Verin shot Essek, almost pleading. Essek didn’t miss it, nor did he heed it. There wasn’t any point in playing her games anymore.

“Something that you could live a hundred lifetimes and not understand, Umavi.”

The slap to the side of his face felt like freedom. He smiled a blood smeared smile as the guards dragged him away from his mother, back to his cell.

“VERIN!” His mother’s shrill voice echoed into the hallway, and on its heels, his brother skidded after the guards. They did not stop for him, but Verin held out his hand, as if reaching for Essek anyway. He mouthed something that looked suspiciously like an apology, for what, Essek couldn’t fathom. He never had understood his brother, but he nodded in placation, if nothing else.

\---

They cast a spell on him, and the metal in his leg _screamed_. Or maybe it was him screaming. Or maybe it was both. Or neither. He couldn’t tell, the white hot pain so blindingly, breathtakingly painful that he couldn’t even think. Only his mother knew about that. Only she could have told them, is the last thought he has before dipping into unconsciousness. 

_He will never serve his country, not like his father. He is too weak. On more than one occasion he had been told in no uncertain terms that the only reason he had not been drowned as an infant was the vain hope that his soul would awaken. The only reason so much gold had been poured into breaking, straightening, molding his hideous legs, was the expectation that he would one day repay his den’s charity._

_He is so bright, so talented. Surely it would only be a matter of time before the dreams come. Before he remembers his name. And only a matter of time before he will tell all the world of the wisdom and the kindness of Umavi Thelyss._

\---

A thatch of golden red in the darkness sent a thousand panicked thoughts to happen in quick succession, all a little more catastrophic than the last. Why, why, why was Caleb there? Why had the Nein let him? Why had the _Dynasty_ let him? What could he possibly want? Was he simply here to gloat? To bask in whatever masochistic commiseration he saw between the two of them? To pity--

“Gods, Essek, are you alright?”

It took Essek far longer than he would care to admit to lift his pounding head. To school his features into something mirthless and disinterested. “You know, actually, I’ve been better.” The levity fell flat between them, a dry humorless laugh chased away by a hacking cough. Blood spluttered down his nose and chin, and he struggled to calm his breathing for a few long moments. Caleb stared on with something unreadable contorting his features. Unlike with his mother, Essek found he absolutely hated it.

“How long have you been down here?”

How long _had_ he been down here? “I… have no idea. How long has it been since we last spoke?”

“A little over a month.”

“A little over a month, then.”

“Scheiße, we should have been here, _I_ should have-” 

“Please, don’t say any more.”

“But-”

“The only reason they let you down here is because they’re listening. You know that. Your group did the exact same thing.” He looked pointedly over Caleb’s shoulder to the guard, who was doing an admirable, if unconvincing job of pretending to be disinterested in the conversation. Caleb took a couple shuffling steps towards the bars separating them, and Essek flinched, frayed nerves bristling under the irrational expectation of violence.

“But we can help you.”

Again, Essek laughed, timidly this time so as to avoid jarring his ribs. A sharp hiss escaped his lips when he failed. “You can’t help this, Caleb. Someone has to pay. You know that as well as I. I’ve made my peace with death. With. This. It’s what I deserve.”

“No. I do not accept this.” Caleb gestured widely, at the cell surrounding Essek, at Essek himself, “This is not penance, this is torture. There must be something that we can do.”

The thought of Caleb, of the Nein, trying to help only hurt more. The idea of them risking themselves to save him was unacceptable in its own right. Maybe it was just his pride talking. He had suffered for them, for their privacy. If they threw all that away, it would just be one more exercise in futility on his part. “Just… tell me about the island? Was it all Jester hoped it would be?”

The tale that Caleb wove was nothing short of absurd. Were it not for his previous experience with the Mighty Nein, Essek would have said that it stretched the imagination. A dragon turtle, a village controlled by an extra-planar being, _a dick party._ Caleb faltered after that, as if debating on whether or not to continue. He glanced back at the guard, and seemed to decide against it. Essek couldn’t help a twinge of curiosity, but did not press for details. They only spoke of safe things. Things the Dynasty cared nothing about.

“Thank you, Caleb. You’ve been a far better friend to me than I deserve.” He found himself meaning it.

Essek thought Caleb was about to argue the point with the way his expression soured, and was surprised when the next words out of his mouth were nothing of the sort, “Do you… remember on the boat?”

Essek couldn’t squirm. He wanted to, but he was pinned like an insect on a board. “Of course I do…”

“What were you going to say?” Caleb’s voice fell into a rough hush, as if trying to convey intimacy through metal bars and armed guards. It was pity, Essek corrected himself, not intimacy. Caleb was only bringing it up because he knew Essek was safely locked away, soon to be dead. But Essek was selfish, and desperate, and he could almost imagine what it would be like if Caleb truly meant it.

Essek looked to the guard, who was pretending not to pay attention. Caleb’s gaze followed.

“No, it’s too late for that now. It’s better if some things remain unsaid.”

Caleb’s shoulders slumped in defeat, fingers rubbing restlessly at his forearms. “Essek. If. If you won’t- This can’t be the end. We have so much left to discuss. I will wait for you to come back. I can be patient.”

Essek’s mind was like cotton, and it took far too long for him to parse out what Caleb meant. When he did, his sigh came out sounding more like a sob. Caleb had the audacity to look wounded at the outburst.

“ _Was_?”

“Just… One more lie to add to the pot.” It broke his heart a little bit, watching Caleb collapse ever inward, knowing that he was once again the cause of his discomfort. “It seems so unimportant, now. Given the grand scale of all of my other lies. But, ah. I’m not consecuted. And even if I was, traitors and apostates are not allowed the honor of rebirth.” His voice cracked, and he hated it. Hated how his body betrayed his every attempt at levity.

“ What ?”

“I’m sorry Caleb, I really am.” Caleb was pacing like a caged animal, and it set Essek on edge. He had a growing dread that the Mighty Nein might do something terribly foolish, and end up in a cell next to him.

“This is not the end for you Essek Thelyss. I am going to save you. I promise, I will.”

Essek did not have the heart to correct Caleb’s use of surname, too irrationally defensive of the empty promise. The _placating gesture_. “Now who’s lying,” he said, voice colder than he intended.

Caleb sighed, and his gaze fell to the floor. He was a pathetic sight to behold, all hunched shoulders and tightly wrapped arms, and Essek indulged himself in pretending like the hurt wasn’t his own damn fault.

“Don’t give up, Essek,” He said quietly, and turned to leave. The guard looked back, Caleb did not.

\---

Essek did not know how much time passed. He continued to tell the Shadowhand whatever she wanted to hear, so long as it had nothing to do with the friends that he had lost. His life, an open book being systematically shredded but for one tiny appendix in the back that he clung to like a lifeline.

The Shadowhand was mercilessly efficient in finding new ways to make him miserable. Sounds that echoed in his ears long after they’d dissipated and denied him any chance of trancing. Flashing lights that made him blind and nauseous and vomit up the little they provided him to fill his stomach. 

_"You murdered your father, you selfish, petty little boy, you realize that don't you?" Essek is only half listening over the roar in his ears. His mother is more furious than he's ever seen her, and his pride is too wounded to care._

_"How is this my fault?! He died doing his job!"_

_"You know exactly why this is your fault. Everything I have given you, everything I have made you, and how do you repay me? By murdering my husband." She is seething, it is something feral and furious, and utterly foreign. And yet, and yet, her words remain the same as they have always been. Condescending. Disappointed. Judgmental._

_"Why does everything have to be a transaction with you?!" His voice cracks at the end of the question, but it's too late to take it back._

_"Because life is a transaction, you fool, and you keep racking up debts that you cannot hope to repay. Especially since you have already squandered any chance of being consecuted in the foreseeable future!"_

_"Maybe I don't want to BE consecuted!"_

_She slaps him. Not for the first time. But it's the first time that when he wakes up the next day, the dark, palm shaped bruise remains as a mark of his unceasing failure._   
  


\---

“Essek, you have a visitor,” the Shadowhand said in place of her normal greeting one morning. (Essek didn't know for certain that it was, in fact, morning. But for lack of any other means of keeping time, he marked the mornings by her arrival).

Hunched behind her was a massive orc man, doing his best to appear half his size. Once the guard unlocked his cell, the Shadowhand ushered the orc inside, but remained on the threshold herself. He was no torturer, Essek observed, taking in the vaguely haunted look on his face, and the way his hands wrung nervously. He kept glancing over at the Shadowhand, who kept urging him forward. Once close enough, Essek recognized the man from the Conservatory, by face if nothing else. He couldn’t fathom why he would be dragged down here.

“You think that you have nothing to lose, Essek,” the Shadowhand said, drawing his attention away from the restless orc. “You think that if you do not fear torture, if you do not fear death, then you are incorruptible. You are mistaken”

She ran a pristinely manicured finger along one of the iron bars of his cell, then rubbed her fingers together as if fascinated by whatever residue she found there. “You call yourself a master. A prodigy. Untouchable. _Other_ . I do not tolerate such arrogance in my halls. I have been merciful, but my patience wears thin. If you will not comply, I shall take _everything_ that you cling to in your stubborn, delusional pride.”

She looked to the orc man, and signaled him to action with a jerk of her chin.

“You are nothing without your magic, little boy. And so I shall make you nothing.”

At first Essek did not understand. Did not recognize the dunamantic sigils the orc began tracing in the air between them. It wasn’t until the man withdrew a black pearl from a pocket, and made to press it against Essek’s forehead that he realized what she meant.

He begged, to his shame. He cried. He pleaded. The orc faltered under the onslaught of his outpouring, glancing back at the Shadowhand for instruction. 

“I don’t want grovelling, Essek, I want information.”

And so his pleading turned to babbling. Wild conjecture about Dairon that he had never reported because he was never able to prove it, and because it would have drawn too much attention to his own betrayal, even if he had been. The spells he taught Caleb. The spell they created _together_ , along with the little goblin girl. The resources he granted Beauregard. The favors. The teleportations. The gifts. The visits. The laughter. The fucking hot tub. How the only thing they were guilty of was ever trusting him.

She did not call the orc away, and he was running out of things to confess.

“I love him,” he said, and it sounded like a death sentence in its own right. “I love him. I am compromised. I knew it and I did nothing, because I couldn’t bear the idea to be away from him. From them. I love him. I love them. We never fucked. I swear. He didn’t want to, didn’t want me. I would have, I’m weak, and I would have, but he didn’t. I’m sorry. Please, let me die whole. Please. There’s nothing else. I have nothing else. Don’t take this from me.”

The Shadowhand crossed the cell in three easy strides to stare at Essek through narrowed eyes. “ _Whom_?”

He hung his head, resigned. An ugly, dirty feeling crawled up the back of his neck as angry whispers snarled at his weakness. His disloyalty. His stupid, pathetic pride.

“The human. Caleb.”

She made a noncommittal noise and nodded her head in a quick jerk. “Very well. Get on with it.”

“What? No. NO. I told you everything I-”

The orc pressed the pearl to Essek’s forehead, and lay a massive hand on his chest, and it felt like shutters closing on his soul. It felt like it should be painful. Like it should send him into sobs and spasms. But it was just… _Nothing_. And that somehow made it infinitely worse.

“It won’t be long now,” The Shadowhand said, waving a hand as she turned to leave. “I am satisfied we have bled all usefulness from you.”

\---

The Shadowhand did not bother returning. All offers of sustenance disappeared with her. It was a guard who eventually taunted him with his fate.

“Three days,” the woman said, “You have three days to live. Do you have anyone you want to talk to?”

“Caleb,” he said without thinking, and immediately regretted it.

It didn’t matter.

“The Mighty Nein are not in Rosohna. They haven’t been for weeks.”

It’s just as well, he ended up admitting to himself once he was alone again. He had somehow managed to betray them one final time. Made the decision to divulge their secrets knowing full well the mercy they had already shown him. Chosen to sell them out to save his own pride, and failing even in that. He welcomed death with a weariness that seeped into his bones. 

\---

But death… didn’t come.

Essek thought it must finally be the third day when he hears someone descending the stairs. The gait is ponderous, light, almost lost amidst the heavy footfalls of guards. 

An ancient drow wearing the garb of the clergy coalesces from out of the murky black. Apparently the Luxon had decided it too needed to take its pound of flesh, he couldn’t imagine any other reason why she would be in front of him. Traitors were not granted last rites.

As she approached, a vain, unhelpful part of his mind supplied that she was Houan Beltune. He had read her thesis, once, on metempsychosis and had found it nothing if not trite. Why he remembered this, of all things, he could not begin to fathom. 

It took her far too long to enter his cell, creaking and shifting like each step might be her last, and it was all he could do not to snap at her to hurry along whatever inevitable retribution she had planned.

She smiled sadly at him, and reached for his face. He flinched away, but she did nothing more than cup his jaw in her hand, rubbing her thumb over scabbed skin with an unreadable expression that left her eyes too bright in the flickering dimness.

“You have lost so much, child,” she crooned. The sympathy in her voice made him cringe. “Was it worth it?”

He scowled, averting his gaze as much as he could muster with her knobby fingers holding his face hostage. The silence between them grew long, and she tapped an insistent finger against his bruised cheekbone. 

“My den and my position are no great losses,” he replied through clenched teeth. 

She narrowed her eyes at him and made a wet, considering noise. Mercifully she did not point out what he already knew.

“I pray the Light yet finds you, and helps you remove the mantle of darkness which you have chosen to wrap around your heart.”

He was about to point out that it was a little late for proselytizing, but was struck silent by the movement of her hand, upwards over his face until it alighted upon his temple. 

She made a gesture with her other hand that vaguely reminded him of Caleb’s cradle. Rather than fire, it glowed with the matte light of dunamancy, and the gesture flared into the shape of a beacon. 

She plucked an ephemeral silver thread from his temple and pulled. And pulled. She affixed the thread to the floating shape, and he watched with morbid curiosity as she wound the thread in between her hands. There was something tugging in his mind, soft and dim and forgettable. Cotton thick fuzziness clouded behind his vision and made it hard to think. When the thread formed a ball large enough that she could barely contain it in a single palm, she crushed the thread filled beacon into her palms until it disappeared into a singularity of nothing. 

Finished, she kissed him on the forehead. He could not remember why that made something flare painfully in his chest. He could not remember who he was. Or where he was, or why he was there.

\---

An old woman walked away from the man in the cell. Four men in black, insect like armor crowded in in her stead. They unhooked the man in the cell from the wall, and lashed his hands together.

The man in the cell was hauled bodily up stairs, so many winding stairs. Through halls that made his eyes and his head ache in equal measure. 

He was led to a beautiful room, full of light. Everything was coated in a bleary halo, no matter how much he squinted the tears from his eyes. The room was full of faces all staring at him. He recognized none of them.

A tall woman, clad in starlight and fury, pointed to a small gathering of strange, colorful individuals in the center of the room. The man from the cell was dragged over to them.

The woman spoke, but it was not in his native tongue. The words came fast and sharp, and it took him so long to identify them as Common that he only caught a few fleeting words. Not enough to understand what was happening. Something about a traitor, a dynasty, an execution.

A human man with red hair and a purple coat stepped forward towards the majestic drow and dropped to one knee. He was holding something beautiful, if unfathomable. A glowing, geometric… thing. Pulsing softly in the man’s pale hands. The man from the cell had the strangest sense that he had seen something like that before. But he couldn’t recall from where.

A guard in the same dark armor swept forward and plucked the object from the human’s hands. Soft rolling murmurs passed through the hall, speaking of beacons, of Luxons, of a Mighty Nein. The words mean nothing to him save what little he could glean from their base parts. 

A blue tiefling opened her mouth to speak, but the woman of starlight held up a dark hand to silence her, and barked an order over her spluttering. “Dismissed,” the man from the cell’s brain managed to supply in translation.

One of his handlers shoved him into the mess of colorful bodies. He found his legs unable to hold his own weight and he collapsed. The human with the red hair scrambled to catch him before he fell completely to the floor. His heart leapt in his chest when calloused fingers clutched at his unstable shoulders, pulling him close.

He wasn’t sure why.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary of Ch. 1 for anyone who felt like skipping it: Essek was convicted of treason and apostasy, disowned, and tortured for information regarding his conspiracy. This resulted in him seriously injured, and without his magic or his memories. The Mighty Nein traded the last remaining beacon for the diminished Essek. Essek was, before having his memory tampered with, painfully in love with Caleb, but convinced the feelings were not reciprocated. 
> 
> CW for Ch 2: Treatment of injuries including cleaning wounds and setting dislocated joints, character suffering from panic attacks and other symptoms of PTSD. 
> 
> NOW HI GUYS! Everyone's comments were so sweet and supportive for the first chapter, and I love you all so much, thank you! I had initially planned on there being about twice as much happening in this chapter, but it was getting waaay too long. So I broke it up into parts for easier reading. Still unbetad, if I missed anything please let me know. <3

The Lucid Bastion was too bright, too clean. A holy light bleaching out the ugly, infected underbelly of Rosohna. Thick, dark blood marred the floor, marred perfection, and declared the hasty retreat of a messy pack of dirty, unworthy souls. The Mighty Nein herded Essek through the too bright halls like a pack of overprotective moorbounders, shooting righteous glares at anyone who looked like they might dare try to stop them. 

Through sheer tenacity, and a fluttering, panicked desperation, Caleb lasted far longer than anyone expected him to carrying the deadweight of a semi-conscious drow. When he finally started lagging behind, Yasha put a gentle hand on his shoulder and murmured quietly, asking if she could help. Caleb grunted, but didn’t argue, so she swept Essek up against her chest and the two of them caught up with the rest of the group.

The massive doors that stood as a bulwark against the darkness slammed open, echoing back down the hall as a final unspoken insult against the Bright Queen. As soon as they escaped into the comparative safety of the cool night air, Caleb fumbled Jester’s totem from the folds of his jacket, nearly dropping it in his haste. Without so much as a word of warning, he teleported everyone to the Lavish Chateau, and to freedom.

\---

It was mid-afternoon in Nicodranas, and the lobby of the Lavish Chateau was nearly deserted save for a few staff who had the decency to keep their gaze low when their workspace was suddenly invaded by a furious microcosm of activity. Essek was eerily still by comparison, leaning into Yasha’s chest with a bleary, unfocused expression on his face. 

Jester turned on him in a whirlwind of petticoats and ribbons. She spluttered panicked placations and smoothed her hands in the air over him like she was afraid he might break if she touched him, “Oh man, oh man, Essek. This is preeeeeetty bad, but I’ll patch you up again in no time, don’t you worry, okay? And then you can rest here with my Momma until you have your strength back. She’s super duper nice, you’re going to love her, I promise. See! That’s her there, Hiii Momma!” 

Essek didn’t respond beyond turning to stare unseeing in the direction Jester waved, to Marion frozen in motion, halfway down the stairs with a look of unguarded horror contorting her features. “Oh, Jester, darling. Let me get Nadine. Take him to the rooms we lent the Brenattos. Veth, you know the way, yes?” 

“I do!” Veth skittered up the stairs after Marion, the rest of the group following more slowly, weariness weighing down their strides. 

It was as much an ordeal to stuff the lot of them into the extravagant apartments as it had been to extricate them from Rosohna. Elbows bumping and pushing and squirming until far too many people were hovering around the opulent bedding threatening to swallow Essek’s frail frame. 

Once they were all situated, Jester wheeled her hurricane focus on Essek once more. “See Essek, I told you she’s amazing, we’re going to take the best care of you like, ever. I’m gonna heal you now, okay? Okay.” 

She did not wait to see what sort of response she might get from him. Instead she immediately set about making the motions of spellcraft, holding her holy symbol in front of her. The spell discharged and a bright light flashed at her fingertips which made Essek recoil, but when the light dissipated, he looked otherwise unchanged. 

Beau cleared her throat.

Fjord leaned in to squint at Essek. “Did it… did it work?”

Jester puffed up defensively, gesturing over Essek like she had something to prove. “I don’t get it! Oh man, guys. Do you think- What if the Traveler doesn’t want him to get better?”

Caduceus plopped a large hand onto her shoulder, and she wobbled under the weight. “Mind if I take a look?” She nodded and stepped away, chewing on her lip. Caduceus folded in on his long limbs, pale eyes cataloguing the mess of waste and wounds painting Essek’s crumpled body. He smoothed a strand of matted white hair away from Essek’s face, “Hey friend. We’re going to fix you up, alright?”

Essek stared up at the massive firbolg, wide eyed and suspicious. 

Caduceus gently rubbed a hand down Essek’s arm, murmuring his own prayer beseeching the Wildmother lend him her strength. Delicate lichen blossomed at his fingertips, but rather than gain purchase, greyed and flaked away from Essek’s skin like ash. Caduceus watched in fascination as it fluttered to the ground. “Huh. That’s interesting.” 

“This is not working,” Caleb muttered, digging impatiently through his pack and producing a small vial of red liquid. Essek lurched backwards when he held it up to his face but was unable to extricate himself from the thick sea of bedding. “Essek, please. Let us help you.”

Essek blinked slowly, brows knitted up in confusion as the silence drew out between them. “My Common is not good,” he said, accent heavy and halting. “Who are you?”

The steel of Caleb’s gaze melted away, and he jerked his hand away from Essek’s face like the words had physically stung. “You do not recognize me?”

A heavy blanket of disquiet fell over the room, and the shifting of shoes and linen and leather with every guarded breath was deafening in the silence. Beau slid up behind Caleb, putting her hand on his shoulder to ease him out of her way. “ _I’m Beau. Can you understand me, Essek?”_ she asked in Undercommon.

Essek visibly brightened hearing her words, nodding with as much enthusiasm as he could muster, which translated to little more more than a subtle dip of his chin. “ _My name is Essek_?”

“ _Yes. Your name is Essek. You're hurt. We're trying to help. Caleb has a healing potion for you_.”

Another silence fell over the group as Essek considered her words. Deeming them trustworthy enough (and with no other options revealing themselves) he dutifully reached out for Caleb’s potion, muscles in his arm spasming with the effort. Before he was able to wrap his fingers around the vial his arm collapsed back to his side, and he hissed in pain. “ _I can’t._ ”

Beau stepped back, tapping Caleb on the elbow and nodding in encouragement. Caleb glanced between the two of them, torn between a desperate need to help, and the uncomfortable realization that he was looking at a stranger. He forced himself to lift the vial to Essek’s chapped lips. 

Under any other circumstances, the moan that escaped Essek’s chest would have been salacious. He drank hungrily, a desperate whine in his throat when the vial was emptied and there was nothing more to ease his choking thirst.

Still nothing happened.

“Oh man, oh man, guys. This is really bad. What are we going to do?”

“Before _anything_ , I think some introductions are in order.” Beau interrupted, holding up a hand. “Essek needs a quick refresher. Keep it simple, whatever happened messed with his Common too.” She gave Jester a pointed look, which went utterly unacknowledged. 

They each took turns introducing themselves, and Essek nodded weakly. Caleb went last, struggling to push past the overwhelming sense that he had utterly failed in saving his friend, that Essek’s was one more name to add to the list of people who had died on his watch. He brushed his fingertips over the back of Essek’s pallid knuckles, an anchor in place of the eye contact he couldn’t find it in himself to offer as he gave a fake name to a man with no memories.

“Thank you,” Essek said, “I will. Uhh. Try to remember. I am Essek.” 

\---

They found themselves woefully unprepared for the intricacies of mundane healing efforts. Essek flinched and shyed from every loud noise and swift movement, hindering their efforts further. Frustrated and claustrophobic, Caleb declared that everyone was to split up. Beau and Caduceus would stay with him and help get Essek cleaned up. The rest would fan out to comb the market for supplies. As the group extricated themselves from the room Veth looked over her shoulder, frowning up at Caleb who did not notice her concerned glance.

Marion lingered at the door with a handful of towels once the group had dispersed. She promised to bring up more bedding, and asked them to tell her if they needed anything else. Caleb shot her a grateful nod and she closed the door behind her.

Caleb turned to Essek then, sighing tiredly. “I am so sorry you had to wait so long. Things did not go as planned. But you are safe now. Things are going to be better.”

Essek glanced over at Beau, “ _I only caught some of that.”_

“ _You are safe. We are going to take care of you_.” 

He nodded, turning back to Caleb, “I thank you,” he said haltingly. 

Caleb pressed his mouth into a thin line of poorly disguised irritation, “You are welcome.” He looked to Beau and jerked his head to the side, stalking to the corner of the room he deemed farthest from Essek’s bed. “Maybe I should just go with the others. He doesn’t need me here.”

“Oh, c’mon. You don’t mean that.”

“I cannot even speak to him Beauregard!”

“So what? That’s what I’m here for. But you’re the whole reason he’s alive, Caleb. You need to be here for him.”

Caleb was weighing the comparative benefits of arguing and running out the door when Caduceus cleared his throat. The two of them turned to stare at him and Essek, who met their eyes with guarded curiosity. “Could I get a hand or two over here maybe? That’d be great.”

Beau grabbed Caleb by the arm and dragged him back before he could protest furter.   
  


Kneeling beside the bed, Beau gently explained in Undercommon that they’d be removing Essek’s soiled clothes. Essek was already struggling to remain conscious in the nest of blankets, but wearily nodded his assent. Their initial plans to undress him were quickly dismissed in the face of stuck, crusted fabric clinging unforgivingly to Essek’s skin. It was kinder to simply cut him out of the shreds of flimsy undershirt that adhered to his skin at odd angles, avoiding where the gossamer fabric had fused with dark, angry scabs. His ruined trousers got the same treatment. Even with their best attempts at caution, Essek hissed in pain when the fabric of his smallclothes was peeled away, his groin and legs mottled with raw, angry ammonia burns.   
  


Caduceus gently draped a towel over Essek’s waist and announced to the room that he needed to go find some warm water and soap, and would return as soon as he had them. This left Beau and Caleb behind to deal with Essek’s hair. Caleb argued in favor of attempting to salvage it, but after a few tense attempts at finding a foothold in the tangles, and a rapidly dwindling fuse on Essek’s patience, Essek pleaded with them to just get rid of it. Dingy grey knots and caked blood tumbled onto the fine silk pillows and were forgotten as they exposed the full extent of the vicious laceration that split his scalp. 

While they waited for Caduceus to return, Beau and Essek murmured quietly in Undercommon, leaving Caleb to categorize every wound and insult he could see, and stew in silent fury. His traitorous memory painted a perfect portrait against which to compare Essek's many injuries, testaments to his own failure to save him fast enough. Caleb was not naturally inclined to physical violence. He preferred to solve problems with his mind, and failing that, his magic. He couldn’t remember a time when he wanted to so badly punch a wall. Or a Queen. 

Caduceus returned with more towels, and two steaming buckets that smelled equal parts herbal and medicinal. 

Stuck in a feedback loop of fury and self-loathing, Caleb wanted nothing to do with the project of soaking and peeling at old blood. Wanted nothing to do with the frail, broken man on the bed. He didn’t trust himself to not do something stupid, to lash out at the wrong person. Didn’t trust hands trembling in barely contained anger to not hurt the fragile body that took the place of his- of Essek. But Beau snapped her fingers, and shot him a pointed look across the bed and he sighed, taking one of the buckets from Caduceus. 

Caleb and Caduceus worked on removing months worth of blood and sweat and filth. Essek and Beau continued murmuring in Undercommon, conversation punctuated by grunts and whines whenever cotton dragged too roughly over a particularly sensitive wound. Once Essek was as clean as could be managed, Caleb slid his amulet around Essek’s neck, palm lingering over too-sharp collarbones. “This will help keep you safe, do not take it off” he said, “Do you understand?”

Essek nodded. 

\--

The sun was setting low over the horizon by the time the rest of the Mighty Nein trickled back in from their various tasks, bringing with them poultices and liniments, bandages and splints, and, in Jester’s case, a truly impressive bouquet of flowers and armfuls of bags full of new clothes. “Okay, okay, okay. So I didn’t know what size you were, you know, other than like, super tiny. But I got some pretty fancy stuff that I think you’ll like! And if you don’t that’s okay too because the shop owner knows my Momma, and they’re like best friends, so it’s totally not a problem and stuff.”

“I think we’re a ways out from the new wardrobe stage, Jess,” Beau warned gently. Essek gaped at them all with a mixture of overwhelmed horror and curiosity. Jester was unperturbed, and plopped the vase full of flowers on the table next to Essek’s bed.

Fjord promptly picked it up and moved it to make room for actual medical supplies.  
  


After fruitless bickering amongst themselves, during which Essek was looking increasingly listless, it was decided that it would be unwise to call for a doctor, even one recommended by Marion. The fewer people who knew that Essek was in Nicodranas, the better. Between the group they were reasonably confident that the majority of his wounds only required time and cleaning, the gash on his head was ugly, but old and half healed and Caduceus doubted if sutures would hold. His shoulders, it was decided, required the most immediate attention. 

“I can set his shoulders,” Yasha said from where she was lingering at the outskirts of the group. “I’ve done it before.”

Essek passed out as the first shoulder was being manipulated back into place. They decided to continue anyway, taking advantage of his unconsciousness to get as much treatment out of the way as possible. Yasha popped his other shoulder back in, and they pinned both arms across his chest with soft bandaging. 

When Essek stirred again some minutes later, it was screaming bloody murder and tearing at the swathes of fabric immobilizing his arms like they were strangling him. Beau struggled to still Essek’s thrashing without pressing into any obvious wounds as she muttered soothing placations in Undercommon, attempting to draw his attention away from his bindings. The more Essek struggled against Beau, the more nauseous Caleb looked fretfully lingering at the edge of the bed. It took long tense minutes of collective horror for Essek’s breathing to steady, for his writhing to settle back into heavy exhaustion. When pressed, he couldn’t remember why it was so upsetting, but his eyes remained haunted long after his panic outwardly settled.

Caleb cut Essek free from the bandages without waiting for the rest of the group to offer their input, earning an exhausted but grateful nod. He argued fiercely against immobilizing the drow any more than absolutely necessary after the outburst, dismissing Caduceus and Jester’s insistence that he needed to keep his arms still for weeks, if not months if he wanted any chance of healing properly. They compromised on only wearing the slings when he was conscious and moving.

\---

Everyone took shifts staying with Essek after that, though Caduceus took the helm in changing bandages and cleaning wounds. Days past in a bleary haze of astringent herbs and softly whispered words. A liminal hush settled over the apartments, footsteps padded on plush carpets, avoiding the squeaky floorboard four strides in from the door. Sunlight and moonlight cast deep shadows over sharp cheekbones and soft pillows and there was little to define the boundary between the two in time or space. 

\---

The first week Essek did little more than sleep, but he was plied with milk and tea whenever he stirred long enough to swallow it. Caleb read to him, curled next to him on the bed and holding his hand like an anchor. Terrified Essek might fade away if he let go. Frumpkin curled up at Essek’s feet, never leaving, even when it was not Caleb’s shift. Sometimes in the night when Essek was restless, the little fey’s eyes would glow a pearly blue and he would purr and knead against Essek's legs until he settled once more. 

Beau read as well, though from a chair next to the bed. Yasha and Fjord both meditated through the stillness of their respective vigils. Veth was restless and uncomfortable in the oppressive silence, busying herself with her lock picks and her crossbow, and anything else to keep her hands moving. Caduceus gently adjusted Essek on the bed, and moved his legs in slow, methodical motions so that his body did not further waste away. Jester painted his bed, and then when she ran out of room, moved on to the walls, until the room was exploding with flowers and unicorn hamsters and bumblebees and dicks. 

And when they were all forced to attend to other business, Marion sat next to him, gently stroking his cropped hair and singing the lullabies she once sang to Jester. 

\---

As the second week passed, Essek was able to labor through short conversations, though tired quickly. Beau took it upon herself to linger nearby whenever he was awake, to make sure he was able to communicate what he felt he needed to. The only one who chafed under her constant supervision was Caleb, wallowing in the perpetual reminder of his inadequacy. 

\---

Essek struggled with trancing, passing out from exhaustion more often than not. There were shadows in his mind, as much as in the dark corners of his room, which tightened their noose whenever his vigilance faltered. Shadows that set him on edge and made his lungs clench in panic. Caduceus gently insisted upon guided meditation when he refused to even attempt a trance even though dark smudges stained his eyes and he swayed with the effort of remaining conscious. Essek had balked, refusing outright, and then attempting to placate the firbolg with hollow promises. But Caduceus had stood stalwart in the doorway, tray full of herbs in hand, and simply stared in silent expectation until Essek’s stubbornness withered into compliance.

Caduceus sat cross legged on the floor with a mortar and pestle, grinding up herbs and humming a soft, repetitive drone. Essek’s brow was furrowed in concentration, jaw tight, and fingernails digging crescents into his palms. Eventually he gave up on pretending to be relaxing with an exasperated sigh. There would be no rest for him.

“Why are you here?” he asked, impatience edging into his voice.

Caduceus cocked his head to the side, and placed the pestle down on a towel, then folded his hands in his lap. “Well. To take care of you, I suppose.”

“Why are _you_ here?” Essek pressed. 

Caduceus shrugged, unfurling his long limbs and wrapping his arms around his knees, “I’d like to think I have a calming bedside manner,” he said, smiling placatingly, “Would you like someone else?”

Essek quietly considered the offer for a few moments, then shook his head. As unsettled as he felt, the awkward ritual of requesting a different keeper would do nothing to ease his fraying nerves.

They sat in silence, Caduceus staring with his unnerving, knowing ambivalence. Essek avoided his eyes, glowering instead at a snag on the heavy down comforter.

“Is Caleb angry with me?” He asked finally.

“Not to my knowledge. Why?” 

“I… think…” Essek grimaced, trying to put thought to words, to push through the fog that weighed heavy on his tongue and rendered him inarticulate. 

“Would you like me to get Beau?”

Essek shook his head, “No, no.” he said, “I think... Caleb is with me often and close. But he is, ah…” He scowled, making an admirable impression of Caleb’s sharply furrowed brow and downward turned mouth, “Like this.”

Caduceus bowed his head, shoulders shaking gently in a low, deep chuckle of understanding. “Caleb isn’t mad at you.” He smiled fondly, “He’s mad at the people who hurt you. He’s mad at himself.”

Essek frowned.

“Does that make sense?”

Essek sighed, unsatisfied, “You, yes. Him, no.”

Caduceus nodded and turned his focus back to the poultice he had been working on, “Yeah, that’s fair.”

Sinking backwards to stare up at the explosion of colors Jester had left on his wall, Essek distracted himself by counting the inexplicably abundant phalluses. The gentle scrape of granite on herb resumed, and Caduceus’s grounding drone filled the empty space between them once more.

\---

With the passing of the third week, Essek was able to stomach mild solids and ease himself into loose trousers. He was restless, irritable, and desperate to move, even if only around the room that doubled as equal parts infirmary and prison. His council of keepers allowed him the freedom of mobility, but only with the stipulation that he had to wear both arms in slings if he was on his feet. He shot each and every one of them a pointed scowl when the verdict was passed, but was too desperate for any kind of independence to argue.

Most days he accepted the ultimatum, chasing relief for the aching, restless itch in his legs. Other days he sulked in bed, stubbornly refusing to touch the damned things, warily eyeing them like they might suddenly bind him of their own volition. His Common was less halting, more acerbic. He argued for every scrap of freedom he was granted, and snapped and grumbled whenever his desires were denied. He continued to avoid trancing, angrily balking at anyone who insinuated he might be tired. 

\---

“Beau, can I speak with you?” Essek was sitting on the edge of his bed. It was a no-sling day. Bile choked the back of his throat and his chest tightened painfully at the thought of being _trapped_. Instead he picked at the drawstring of his trousers, pulling at an unravelling thread. He swept his feet across the grain of the floor with a soft, repetitive noise, pretending like he was doing the exercises Caduceus had assigned him. 

“Sure, man. What’s up _?”_ Beau sat down next to him on the bed, raising an eyebrow at his unproductive movements, but saying nothing, for which he was eminently grateful.

_“Would you tell me about me?”_ He asked, slipping into Undercommon.

_“What?”_ The Nein had talked about this, anticipated it. It was only a matter of time before he started asking questions. The party was torn, half arguing for transparency, the other half thought the truth would only make things worse. They had bickered long into the night, and never really came to a consensus on how to deal with it, each silently hoping they would not be the first Essek broached the topic with. 

_“Beau, I don’t know anything about who I am. I don’t know where I’m from. What my family is like. What kind of life I lead. I don’t know how I know you people. Or why you would help me. I don’t- All I know is one day I woke up in a cell. I don’t know_ why _I was there, what I did, or who I was. Was I guilty? Or innocent? What sin was so great that those people, who I don’t even know, destroyed me, and took my memories and sold me to the highest bidder for a little glowing box?”_

_“Well, the short answer is it’s complicated. You were a pretty private guy, you didn’t tell us a lot. And even what we do know… I don’t know that it’s really our place to share.”_

“ _Who are you to decide what I get to know about myself? What gives you that right?”_

_“We’re your friends, Essek. I know we didn’t know you that well, but I’m pretty damn sure we knew you better than pretty much anyone else.”_

_“But how do I know that? All I have is your word and a head full of NOTHING!”_

Beau didn’t flinch at the outburst, but looked down at him with such _pity_ that he wanted to scream, to throw a pillow across the room, to do anything other than slump listlessly and glower at the floor beneath his bare toes. 

_“Listen, Essek. I don’t think that reopening proverbial wounds while you’re healing from literal ones is the best idea.”_

_“Beau, give me_ something _, please. Anything. Do I have a family? Am I married? Do I have children? Friends other than you?”_

Beau could end the conversation, probably _should_ end the conversation but he had been choleric and sullen for the better part of the week, and she feared that he would shut them out entirely if they didn’t throw him some kind of bone. She rubbed her face and sighed loudly. _“You told us that your father is dead. Your mother disowned you. I don’t think you had anyone else. You talked like you didn’t.”_

_“I see… Right. Well. I suppose that means there’s no one looking for me.”_

She put a hand on his knee and squeezed sympathetically. “ _I’m sorry, man.”_

_“Did I deserve it?”_

_“Deserve what?”_ Beau asked. She knew what he was asking. But she had no good answer for him, and obfuscating stupidity bought her brief seconds to compose her thoughts. Her own feelings of righteousness warred with the overwhelming pity she felt for the emaciated, angry little man slumped next to her on an overstuffed courtesan’s bed.

His voice was small and raw, his feet stilled. “ _What happened to me.”_

Her drawn out silence was as much an answer as any confession she might have given. _“I… don’t think that what was done to you was justice.”_

_“That’s not what I asked.”_

_“I know.”_

_“Why buy me, if I’m such a terrible person?”_

This wasn’t working. She wasn’t extending an olive branch, she was kicking out a ladder. _“Okay, woah, back up. First things first. We didn’t buy you. We don’t own you. That’s not what this is. We tried parlaying with the Bright Queen, she would only free you under one very specific condition. We fulfilled her requirements. That’s it. If when you’re all healed you never want to see us again, fine, that’s your prerogative.”_ A good majority of the party would not let him leave without a fight, she knew this, she also knew that a skittish cat’s trust was not gained through smothering. 

_“Fine. Why bring me here if I’m such a terrible person?”_

_“Look. Full disclosure? If it had been up to me you wouldn’t be here. Caleb fought tooth and nail to get you free. I thought you should rot in jail. But I didn’t know how bad-- I hadn’t seen you.”_ Caleb had been beside himself when he emerged from the Dungeon of Penance. It was the closest to a panic attack she had seen from him in months. Inconsolable and frantic he had spoken of nothing else until they vowed to do everything in their power to save Essek. And had spoken of little else even after the promise had been made. Not until the smouldering wreckage of the laboratory at Vergesson lay in their wake and the last known beacon was clutched in his white-knuckled grasp had he allowed himself a moment’s respite. 

_“Do you wish you had left me there?”_

She was quiet for a long while, clenching and unclenching her hands. Weighing her words. _“No. I don’t. You made some really, really shitty choices, don’t get me wrong. But you’ve been more than punished for them. You would have died if we’d left you there. And that wouldn’t have solved anything.”_

_“When do I earn the right to hear my own story?”_

_“It’s not about earning the right. I just think it’d be a lot better if you remembered it for yourself. You shouldn’t have to hear it second hand.”  
_ _  
"And what if I never remember?”_ Essek pressed, twisting on the bed to face her. His expression crumpled in pain and he clutched a hand to his side, _“I am just supposed to accept that I exist in a void?”_  
  
“I promise we’ll tell you what we know. If by the time you’re healed your memories haven’t improved at all, we’ll tell you.”

\---

It took a month for Essek to gain enough strength to shuffle around his room without hissing and wincing at every step. He was caught in the tenuous space between feeling well enough to restlessly yearn for independence, but weak enough that any extended activity left him drained and irritable and rolled his progress back by days. But he was done being coddled, and vowed, in no uncertain terms, that if he wasn’t allowed out of the room, he would find his own way out, consequences be damned. 

Their options were few and far between, even in the relative safety of Nicodranas there would be no hiding a drow. The Empire had eyes everywhere, and there would be no mercy if he was found by Dynasty operatives, even so far afield. Caleb’s tower was secure, but impractical for continued use, and a recipe for disaster if they were somehow separated. 

Reluctantly, the group elected to move him to the Nein Heroez. They could stay on the move, control how many people knew about the Essek’s continued existence, and give him some room to roam without significant risk of discovery. Essek protested what seemed to him to be a continuation of his glorified house arrest and only grudgingly agreed after an impassioned plea from Caleb to allow himself one more month of healing before venturing into the world at large. 

In amends, Caleb offered Essek free reign of his spellbook, and invited him to study together, _like we used to_ , he had said. He knew how desperate it must have looked, but every time Essek’s angry, defiant gaze swept across the room and landed on him a creeping fear twisted in his chest, whispering that with one wrong move he was at risk of forever losing what little of Essek remained. Though he would never admit to it, he was also secretly desperate to know whether Essek’s casting had been as affected as his ability to receive magic. The more he knew, the faster he could fix whatever was wrong.

\---

The days they spent readying the ship to sail were abuzz with a simmering undercurrent of anxious anticipation. On their final night ashore, when everything was stripped from Essek’s room but himself, Caleb was kneeling at Essek’s feet, gently easing them into thick woolen socks for the first time in many months. Essek curled his toes experimentally, smiling down at the top of Caleb’s head.

“Thank you,” he said, “I would do it myself, but I think Caduceus might strangle me.”

Caleb laughed, a soft, huffing thing that was more seen in the shrug of his shoulders than heard. “That is alright. I am happy to help.” He gently eased Essek’s foot into one of Jester’s soft ankle boots. They purchased him his own, but he had had no opportunity to break in the unforgiving leather, so for the sake of comfort Jester offered up a pair of hers. They were a little large, but with the heavy socks fit well enough. 

After tying the laces, Caleb indulged in a fond, gentle squeeze of Essek’s calf through the soft linen of his trousers. “How does it feel?” he asked, and in a rush of impulsive fondness risked a glance up at Essek through the fringe of his bangs. 

Essek hesitantly extended a hand towards Caleb’s face. There was a moment’s pause, a soft inhale as the air around them stilled. Dark fingers made feather-light contact with pale, freckled skin, lingering there in their shared warmth for an indulgent moment. Essek ran his fingers through Caleb’s hair, caressing the heavy red curtain away from his face, “It feels good,” He said, “I-”

They both flinched at the sharp knock of knuckles on wood, hands yanking back into respective laps. Veth swung the door open just wide enough to peek inside. “Come on, slowpokes! Everyone is waiting!” Without awaiting a response, she slipped away as quietly as she had arrived. The door was left ajar behind her, breaking the seal on their quiet isolation. 

Caleb sighed, and with quick, perfunctory movements, slipped on and secured the other boot. “Good?” He asked once more.

Essek nodded.

Caleb pushed himself to his feet, grunting as his knees cracked loudly with the effort. He held out his hand to Essek, who wordless entwined their fingers even though Essek was long past needing assistance getting out of bed. “Are you excited?”

A bright grin lightened Essek’s features and he nodded once more, squeezing Caleb’s hand. “One step closer to freedom.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to upload on the weekends, but this was half written already from what I took out of the last chapter and I'm impatient. So have it a couple days early. :U 
> 
> Thank everybody so so much for the kudos and the comments and the love. <3 It means a lot. 
> 
> CWs haven't changed, I don't think, but continue on the same vein as last chapter. Unbetad, feel free to nit pick if you find anything weird!
> 
> I tentatively think this will be ten chapters? But no promises.

The great cabin was converted into an apartment for Essek. They installed heavy, dark curtains on the windows to protect his eyes from the sun, books, maps, as many spell components as could be found, fine parchment and quills, all things the Mighty Nein promised Essek had once held dear, all were supplied in abundance. When the “Essek things” were deemed insufficient to furnish the space to bursting, the Nein took it upon themselves to donate more to fill it up, and make it feel lived in. The more the room was decorated, the less it looked like something dedicated to the Essek they knew, and more like an explosion of the combined sensibilities of the Mighty Nein, practicality of sea travel be damned.

Each member of the group presented him with a gift to fill out the space. At first it had been just Jester and Caleb, but then Veth, Caduceus and Yasha hadn't wanted to feel left out, and by that point Beau and Fjord were passive aggressively shoehorned into participation. Jester had to leave the room for hers. She returned struggling, grunting and muttering under her breath, to present Essek with a gigantic stuffed cat with a silver bow around its neck, which bore more than a passing resemblance to Frumpkin. “I know you like when he cuddles with you, so if he’s ever super busy doing Caleb stuff, or is, you know, like an octopus or something, now you have something to cuddle with!”

She hoisted the monstrosity up onto the bed. The bed which most certainly would not fit both an adult drow, and a tiger sized plush cat. 

Beau’s gift was much smaller, and wrapped in plain black paper. She shoved it into his grasp, and he nearly fumbled it in his effort to not stumble backwards. Unwrapped, it was a book written in Undercommon, called A Modern History of the Dynasty of Light. 

“I stole it,” Beau said with a sharp grin, “Cobalt Soul’s got some pretty good shit if you know where to dig.” Essek thanked her profusely, earning a muttered, “You’re such a nerd.” in dismissal of his gratitude. He put the book down on his desk with a lingering glance. Beau cleared her throat and his awkward attention turned back to the still expectant gaggle and their gifts. 

Caduceus gave him a wide-brimmed straw hat with a thin purple ribbon pinning a daisy to the crown. “To protect your eyes. But I think they’re just nice too.” He plopped it on Essek’s head, where it remained for the rest of the proceedings, flopped low over his eyes.

Veth waddled to him, arms barely wrapping around a large, unadorned wooden box. When he reached to open it, she jumped forward, arms outstretched. “WAIT! CHECK FOR TRAPS!” 

He flinched, dropping the box to the floor and scrambling backwards. Veth burst out laughing, and waved her hand in the air. “It’s fine, it’s fine. Oh man, you should have seen your face!” Caleb shot her a withering glare. 

When Essek reached for it once more his hands were shaking so badly he could barely get the thing open. Inside was a glossy black hand crossbow and a matching hip quiver. “Er… sorry about that. I’ll teach you how to use it! If my toddler can manage it, I’m sure you can.” She winked at him, sliding off to the side to make room for Yasha. 

Yasha handed him a box that was even smaller than Beau’s. The paper it was wrapped in was pressed with purple and orange flower petals. 

“They’re. Ah. Locusts?” He asked, bemused. The confusion did manage to ease the nervous tremor in his hands, if nothing else. 

She nodded, smiling, “Fried ground crickets. I do not know if you like them, but they are a special treat in Xhorhas.” 

He stared down at the box, then tentatively held it out to her. “Would you like some?” She happily plucked one of the plump insects from the box and popped it in her mouth. He offered it to the others, all of whom turned him down. When she didn’t keel over, he pulled one out by the leg and stared at it. Yasha nodded at him encouragingly.

The texture was not terrible, but more than anything, the smoky, spicy flavor of whatever the crickets had been cooked in was so achingly familiar that he found himself misty eyed. He apologized, wiping the tears away before they could spill over his cheeks. “They are very good, thank you Yasha.” 

Fjord cleared his throat and shuffled forward, “I have been informed by our resident cleric that you’re not allowed to actually hold this one.” he said, placing the package on Essek’s desk. 

Caduceus hummed, head bobbing in ponderous agreement. “Too heavy.”

Essek sighed, rolling his eyes and stalking over to his desk to pluck the paper off of Fjord’s package. To reveal… more paper. He looked up at Fjord, an eyebrow quirked in an unspoken question.   
  
“I’m terrible at gifts,” Fjord said, spreading his hands wide in a half shrug of explanation, “If living with Caleb has taught me anything, it’s you wizards can never have enough paper.” Essek laughed and bowed his head in thanks. 

Caleb approached him last, and offered him another small box, no paper, no frills. Just a dark, polished wood. Their fingers brushed together when Essek reached for it and Caleb didn't pull away. “It is fragile,” he said, as if that explained why his hands lingered. 

Essek eased open the top of the box to find the inside lined with a rich red velvet. A small, peculiar brass contraption was nestled inside, with concentric bands arranged around a solid sphere. Essek’s brows drew close in confusion. It was lovely, and no doubt finely crafted, but he had no idea what it was.  
  
“It is an armilla,” Caleb said. “It is small, but it can track Exandria’s ley lines as well as a full sized mechanism.” 

“It’s beautiful,” Essek breathed, running a finger over the polished metal in unguarded wonder. He glanced up at Caleb. “You must show me how it works.”

For some reason, Caleb looked terribly sad, his smile tight and forced. “It would be my pleasure.”

\---

Those first days at sea were spent delivering cargo up and down the Menagerie Coast. They kept the ship moving. Kept it busy. And tried to do the same with Essek. Caduceus warned Essek not to do any heavy lifting, nothing more than a plate or a glass of water. Not for another month. Essek groused, but worried that he might be forced back into the slings, acquiesced. It became apparent after the first day spent almost entirely on his feet that there were also other limitations that he needed to take into account. His legs that night were on fire, cramping and aching and spasming so much he found no rest. The next morning he could not walk at all. So he resigned himself to sitting as much as he could while working on his assorted projects. 

There were few chores to which he was suited, but he was eager to learn even if he was unable to participate, and he followed the crew around like a lost, sunburnt puppy. After a week in the sun, black freckles blossomed on his cheeks like poppy seeds. Orly joked that he would find his sea legs far sooner than Marius, and between laughs and punches to still sensitive shoulders, he was easily adopted by the crew. He found he enjoyed navigation, and spent hours pouring over maps, calculating routes, studying currents with Caleb looking on with a wistful fondness. When he was not pouring over maps he scoured the log books, balancing ledgers as they dropped off and picked up cargo, and ensured with an almost perverse delight, that all the ships goings on were observed and recorded in precise and explicit detail. 

\---

The Nein had all agreed to give Essek space, respecting his apartment as a sanctuary they would not invade without invitation, not wanting it to seem like they were keeping him under guard any more than he already felt. At first he appreciated it, but when he nearly fell down the ladders trying to find them in the middle of the night because the silence and the darkness made him want to scream, he agreed that one of them could stay with him while he tranced. A cot was dragged into the corner of his room between the be-Jestered bookshelf and Dire Frumpkin. He didn’t thank them, not out loud, but when they found the cot pushed up next to his bed, no one moved it away. 

\---

The full face of Catha was brutally bright in the night sky, and Veth drew the black out curtains tight without a second thought. Plunging the cabin into darkness so that she could fall asleep more easily. She murmured a soft good night to Essek, who hummed in return, and faded from consciousness. 

A loud crash had Veth jerking awake, scrambling for her crossbow. There was a dark shape by one of the windows, silhouetted against the searing moonlight. _Intruder_ , she thought, scrambling out of bed and letting loose a shot. It went wide and sunk into the wood of the window frame with a dull thwack. The intruder did not respond, just ripped another one of the curtains down. 

The moon caught on the man’s cropped white hair and Veth realized it was Essek, eyes wild and unseeing. Her crossbow fell to the ground and she held up her hands like she was trying to calm a trapped animal. “Ess. Essey?” 

Dark hands clawed at the fabric, increasingly frustrated. Panting and whining, Essek nearly tripped over the cloth still half gripped in his hands while he stumbled to the next window.

“Essek! Come on, easy now. You’re, you’re on the Heroez. With your friends?” 

He turned and snarled at her in Undercommon, eyes blazing, and for a brief, terrifying moment it was like every single horrible rumor the Empire had ever conjured about dark elves was true. 

“Essek, please. It’s me. Your buddy. Veth?” She took a few cautious steps towards him, and he recoiled, backing into bulkhead. “Please. Come on. Tell me what’s wrong?”

Essek’s voice was ragged and pained, “Too dark,”

“...what?”

“IT’S TOO DARK.”

Veth flinched backwards, glancing over her shoulder to her crossbow, hands wringing with nothing in them. She scrambled over to his desk, lighting the lantern there and casking the cabin in warm, flickering light. 

Essek was a mess. Chest heaving, eyes wild, cheeks streaked with tears, bedclothes mussed and half hanging off of him.

“Is that better?” She asked quietly. 

He turned to her, squinting in the flickering light. Then he looked back to the windows, the curtains at his feet. His face crumpled, his legs following soon after and he collapsed onto the floor in a heap, arms wrapped around his knees. “I’m sorry.”

Veth lingered a safe distance away, holding the lantern at her side. “What’s wrong, Essek?” 

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, barely above a whisper. 

“Hey now, it’s alright. I’m more worried about you.” She shuffled over to Essek, carefully lowering herself to the floor across from him. Scooting the last few inches towards him, she stretched close enough to just poke him with her bare toe. “Are you hurt?” 

Something in his mass shifted, and Veth thought it might have been a shaking of his head. Whether in confirmation or disagreement, she couldn’t tell. “Do you want to talk about it?" 

The same shifting of his bulk, and she assumed that it must be a ‘no’. 

“I get it." She tapped her toe against his once more and craned her neck to look up at the damage to the windows. “Do you want me to leave you alone?”

He looked up at her, the flame reflecting in his eyes and casting dark shadows over the angles of his face made him look otherworldly, hollow. “No, that’s-” He shook his head, digging his nails into his scalp. He was shaking again, she realized. 

She attempted to simply sit across from him in silence for a truly admirable amount of time, fiddling with the hem of her nightgown. But eventually restlessness set in and she began to tap his foot more insistently. “I know I haven’t told you a lot about Luc, but he’s very possibly the most fantastic four year old you’ll ever meet.”

Essek’s brows furrowed in confusion, “Er. Congratulations?”

“Thanks. But what I was going to say was, when he gets scared? More often than not, it’s because he’s feeling powerless.”

“I’m _not_ scared, Veth.”

“Sure, sure. But I’m talking about Luc right now, so shut up.”

He snapped his mouth shut with an audible clack of teeth.

“Anyway. So when Luc is scared, he needs to understand three things: That you are loved, _so much_ , and that nothing you do can change that.” She held up a finger with each of her points, “That just because you’re scared doesn’t mean you're not brave. The bravest people in the world can be scared shitless.” She paused, tilting her head to catch his eye, “And just because you’re scared, doesn’t mean you’re alone. Your family is always there for you.”

Essek wiped his eyes against his forearm with more force than was necessary, “You tell your toddler that people can be scared shitless?” he asked, forcing out a wet laugh.

Veth scoffed. “He’s very precocious. Practically a prodigy.”

Essek’s expression was still haunted, but he forced himself to smile. “Wise words for your son.”

\---

The next few days Caleb insisted that Essek join him while he worked on spells. It did not matter where on the ship Essek was, or what other task he was in the middle of. And at first it was... Nice. Caleb told him about their wonderful sessions together, how brilliant Essek’s work had been. How he had never expected Essek to teach him, but for whatever reason, he had. And now Caleb figured he could return the favor.

But no matter how many times Essek tried, he could produce no magic. No matter how much he prepared, how fine his components, or how precise his gestures, nothing came. Caleb’s hyperfixation pushed when, perhaps, it should have eased. Essek’s frustrated perfectionism mounted when, perhaps, he should have taken a break. On more than one occasion their stubbornness and their desperation for results spurred them to angry shouting. And, most recently, led to Essek storming out with Caleb calling desperately after him. Essek did not speak to him for thirty nine hours, sixteen minutes, and fifty seven seconds. Caleb knew. Caleb counted.

After four such sessions they decided that their time together was better spent on the theoretical, rather than the practical application of magic. Caleb gave him free reign of his spellbook to peruse in the vain hope that something might stick, might trigger a spark. Encouraged him to copy down the spells, to rebuild his own spellbook. 

“This one looks different,” Essek said, squinting down at Caleb’s scratchy handwriting. 

Caleb frowned, wondering if Essek had found some new dick left behind by Jester that he had yet to notice. “How do you mean?” 

Essek tapped his finger on the page over one of the equations, “The… math? The math is different from your other spells.”

That made even less sense. His equations were flawless. “May I see?” he asked, gearing up to explain as gently as possible that Essek was utterly mistaken. 

Essek slid the book back to him, open to the page he was studying. Caleb’s expression fell, any pretense of indignant pride he had been harboring crumbled into melancholy. “That’s because it is your spell.”

Essek leaned over the table to peer curiously down at the book, then up at Caleb. “I taught it to you?”

“No. Well, yes, you did, but.” Caleb turned the book around so that it was facing Essek once more, “You invented this spell. That is _your_ math.”

“Oh. I… don’t remember.” Essek pulled the book back halfways across the table so that he could squint down at the sketch on the opposite page, what looked like the outline of a man, and then a shaded silhouette of the same man next to it. He ran his fingers over it almost fondly, then shifted, tapping on a long sequence of numbers. “I don’t understand this. It looks almost like…” he sighed, muttering out a frustrated stream of Undercommon.

“Do you want me to get Beau?” Caleb asked, something that, if he dwelled on it too long, felt suspiciously like jealousy twisting in his chest. 

Essek emphatically shook his head. “No, no, just give me a moment.” He pushed away from the table to grab his writing utensils and a scrap of parchment. “It is not an illusion spell, correct? It is you. And it is you.”

Caleb walked around the table to stand next to Essek, and it felt so easy, so natural to rest his hand on Essek’s shoulder as he peered over him to look at the paper Essek was scribbling on. “That is correct,” he said, checking Essek’s math.

“But how? I do not understand where the secondary material is coming from.”

Caleb pointed to another line in his spellbook. “From here. Do you remember about Planar Cosmology?”

“Material and fundamental planes which embody the core principles of existence.”

Caleb nodded, “ _Ja_. The way you explained it to me, there are an infinite number of Material planes, all of which exist in the same space as one another. Overlaying, but not interacting. And there are an infinite number of you, and of me. All overlaying but not interacting. Infinite possible threads. This spell plucks-” he pantomimed the plucking of a string with his finger, and Essek watched, enthralled, “-one of those threads, allowing an echo to resonate from that Material plane into this one. Like ripples of water. Then ta da! Another you.”

Enchanted laughter bubbled up from Essek’s chest, bright and soft and he turned to smile up at Caleb, shaking his head with such _wonder_. “That is amazing.”

Caleb smiled, crows feet crinkling in the corners of his eyes, and squeezed Essek’s shoulder. “Yes, well. You are pretty amazing.”

Essek’s smile faltered and he looked back down to the spellbook. “I was,” he corrected, pushing the book away. “I cannot do that anymore.”

Caleb sighed, patting Essek once more on the shoulder and letting his arm fall limply to his side between them. “We will figure this out, Essek.”

“Thank you for explaining it to me, Caleb. I think I’ve had enough of magic for today.” He was turning to go, and a wave of panic washed over Caleb. These sessions had to stop ending with Essek storming out. He couldn’t lose this too. 

“Wait. Please. We can be done, but do not go.”

Essek wheeled back on Caleb, a pained expression on his face, “What would you have me do?” he asked, weariness settling into his voice and into his bones. 

“Ah… We could… Do… whatever it is people do for fun.” Caleb said, grimacing more and more the longer he drew the sentence out. . 

Essek snorted. “An expert on the subject, I see.”

“Well do you have any ideas?” Caleb scowled, arms crossed over his chest.

Essek scoured the room in silent consideration, “Do you have a deck of cards?” he asked. 

“I do not. But-”

“It’s fine. I do…” Essek interrupted, reaching into the middle drawer of his desk and procuring said deck, poised between two fingers. “If you’re amenable.”

“Wait, where did _you_ get a deck of cards?” Caleb asked, certainly not from any of the Nein. He would have remembered. 

“Marius gave them to me. Would you like to play a game?” There was a mischievous lilt to the question that made it impossible for Caleb to turn Essek down. It was playful and fond and _almost_ like things used to be. 

“Why did you ask me if you already had them?”

Essek’s grin was positively lupine, and it was such a familiar expression that it made Caleb’s chest ache. “Curiosity.”

It turned out that Essek was a card counter. A rather good one. (An extremely good one). _It’s just math._ He had said blithely, and oh if that wasn’t a challenge. Caleb spent the next four games trying to beat him, but was left soundly defeated even after adopting Essek’s less than scrupulous strategy. Essek refused to say if he remembered the skill from before, or if he’d inexplicably picked it up in the week that he'd spent with the crew. He’d only fallen into the softest of chuckles as he struggled to put all the cards back into the deck, his efforts hindered by Caleb’s flicking each one that he managed to snatch first into Essek’s chest. 

\---

It did not take long for everyone to collectively realize that nights were the worst for Essek, and to stubbornly refuse to acknowledge the fact, or their collective awareness of it. The darker it was, the less likely Essek was to trance, the more likely he was to lash out at the slightest insult. _A drow afraid of the dark._ No one said it, not to his face anyway, but gazes lingered that spoke louder than words. The night of the new moon was the worst in many weeks, and he had preemptively volunteered to stay on watch with Fjord to avoid being trapped in his cabin with a babysitter. Much better to at least be in the open air with a babysitter.

He restlessly paced, jumping at every creak and groan of the ship. He checked the log book. Checked their heading. Rechecked the log book. Waxed and lubricated his crossbow. Accidentally shot a barrel. Paced some more.

Eventually Fjord tired of his fidgeting and pleaded with him to just _sit down_. Essek’s own tense, aching legs seconded the sentiment, and he reluctantly flopped down on the ladder to the quarter deck, head in his hands. 

“I wish Ruidis was brighter,” Essek murmured after a long stretch of silence.

Fjord glanced over his shoulder, brows furrowed in confusion. “Come again?

“Ruidis. Is… that not what you call the red moon?” Essek asked, pointing to the sky. 

“No, it is.” Fjord made his way back over to Essek, leaning on the rail next to him. “I’m just surprised you remember it, is all.”

Essek shrugged wordlessly. 

“What else do you remember?” 

“About Ruidis?” Essek tilted his head to the side, pursing his lips in consideration. “It has… an orbital period of 328 days…” His first few words were stilted, but the more he spoke, the more momentum the torrent of words gained. “Its orbital deviation is 0.28. Rotational period is 1.79 solar days, this, along with its retrograde orbit lends to the theory that it is an artificial, or recently captured satellite. Its red hue and low albedo might be indicative of surface iron or sulfur, but current research cannot… confir-” Essek trailed off, looking over his shoulder in search of whatever Fjord was staring at.

“Where the _fuck_ did that come from?” 

“I don’t. I’m not sure. Was I incorrect?”

“I haven’t the foggiest notion. You might have been speaking Undercommon for all I could follow.”

“Ah. Then I will assume then that I was correct, and that your knowledge is simply lacking.” Essek said, grinning up at Fjord, forced humor not reaching his eyes.

Fjord scoffed, but was distracted looking up at the sky. “Are your memories coming back?”

Essek ran his hand over his scalp, hair just barely long enough to be parted by his fingers, “I don’t think so. I remember nothing about me, or my home, or spellcraft. I just remember _things_.”

Curious, Fjord’s skyward gaze turned searching. “Do you know what that constellation is called?” He asked, pointing. 

“The Drake.”

Fjord pointed to another.

“The Lovers.”

Fjord laughed. “That must be a Xhorhassian thing, I always heard them called The Brothers.” He pointed to another, then another, and another, both of them grinning and chuckling when their answers more or less aligned. Until they came to one that stopped Essek in his tracks. 

“I can’t. I can’t remember that one.”

“We call it The Trident.”

Essek shook his head, “I feel like that’s wrong.” 

Fjord sighed, peering up at the night sky as if it might somehow show them the answers they sought. “So, what’s so special about that one…” 

Essek shrugged, “From… what I have gathered from my discussions with Caleb, it seems the more common the knowledge, the more of it I remember.”

“Essek, I don’t think there is anything common about prattling on about an accursed little moon.”

Essek bowed his head, “Well, maybe not for you.”

\---

Jester burst her way into Essek’s room carrying a large book and a frilly pink apron. She thrust both at Essek, ignoring how he nearly fell out of his chair when the hatch swung hard on its hinges. 

“I know you don’t remember and all, but you totally owe me cupcakes. So I’m-” she pitched her voice low and made a passing attempt at a Rosohnian accent, leaning in like she was sharing a secret, “-calling in the favor.”

“I. What?” Essek stared at her trappings, and back to his desk where he had been struggling his way through the book Beau had gifted him, succeeding largely only in an exercise in self-loathing. He had stared at the same page for more than five minutes, and had been utterly unable to focus on stringing more than a few words together. Bitter frustration coiled like bile in the back of his throat at being unable to complete such a simple task. 

“Cupcakes! Come on, I bet you’re a super good baker, because you’re super nerdy and like experiments and chemistry and stuff.”

There would be no salvaging his reading attempts, he pinched his forehead wearily. “I will have to take your word for it.”

“Totally, now come on! It’s cupcake tiiiiime!” 

Essek tied the apron around his waist and looked, dismayed, around the galley. He was not certain if he had ever stepped foot in a kitchen before, though certainly had not done so since being released from prison. Nothing in the space felt familiar to him. Except, perhaps, the stained, suspiciously sticky cookbook Jester plopped down in front of him. She stared expectantly at him, rocking up and down on the balls of her feet.

“Jester, I-. I can read this book. But I’m not certain I actually know… what any of these things are.”

She peered down at the book and set her hands on her hips. “Essek. You don’t know what an egg is?” She asked, exasperated. 

“Yes, Jester. I know what an egg is. But hartshorn? Mace? _Rosewater_? I could not begin to guess.”

“Mmmmmmh. I guess you’re right. Here!” She dashed her way across the kitchen, grabbing things from various cabinets and tossing them in Essek’s general direction. More than one jar Essek had to snatch before it could roll off the countertop.

“Jester, I fail to see what my purpose here is.” Essek nearly tripped sidestepping as she dove under his legs to open the cabinet he was standing in front of.

“You’re here to help, I already said that!”

“Yes, but. You do not appear to require my assistance.”

Jester groaned. Loudly. “I didn’t say I _needed_ your help. I want it!” She slid up onto the countertop, swinging her legs in a wide arc and he was forced to look up to maintain eye contact. “You always look so sad, Essek. I want to do something to make you happy. If you really don’t want to bake, you don’t have to. But I’d like it if you’d keep me company.” She adopted her finest doe eyes, lower lip pouting in preemptive sorrow.

“I… Yes, alright. I think I will need you to show me what to do though.”  
  


They talked about everything, and nothing. At least, Jester did. Essek nodded, fighting a rapidly worsening headache and trying to keep up with her stream of consciousness enthusiasm. They ate far too much batter before the cupcakes even make it into the oven, Essek laughing indulgently and licking clean the spoon when it was offered to him like a holy relic. While they waited for the cupcakes to cook, Jester smeared icing over his cheek, and told him it matched his hair. 

By the time the cupcakes were cooling, Essek’s legs were aching and his head was pounding, but he didn’t have the heart to tell her he had to stop. They had a contest over who could make the best decorations. Essek considered himself summarily beaten, but Jester was tickled pink by the peculiar little shapes he piped onto his. She insisted on giving those to Caleb. Because he _really_ liked Essek, and would want to see what Essek made for him, and she was totally going to tell Caleb how he licked the spoon. Her pantomime was significantly more lewd than he imagined his efforts had been in reality. Essek flushed dark purple. 

Much of her sentiment was more or less repeated as Essek awkwardly held the plate out to Caleb, staring pointedly anywhere but at Caleb’s face. Caleb accepted the plate with a crooked smile, and explained to Jester that they were alchemical symbols. One for sulfur, one for mercury, and one for salt. He suggested Essek speak to Veth, to see if he remembered anything helping her in her lab. He also gave Essek back the mercury cupcake, insisting he eat it if Caleb was to eat one. Jester took the third, even though she had moments before sworn up and down all three were for Caleb.

“To alchemy!” Jester exclaimed, holding her cupcake aloft like she was toasting. Essek shot Caleb a look, silently begging him to save him from the machinations of a sugar-high tiefling. 

Caleb shrugged and held his own cupcake aloft, “To alchemy.”

Essek groaned and began to lift his own cupcake, resigning himself to his fate when the three of them were abruptly thrown against the bulkhead. Someone screamed on one of the upper decks.

Several crew members pushed past Caleb, Essek, and Jester as they scrambled up to the main deck. Shouting could be heard even before they emerged into pouring rain. A harsh crosswind blasted the droplets into flesh like thousands of stinging claws. 

It was difficult to tell what, exactly, was happening in the deluge. Fjord was shouting orders. Beau was scrambling through the rigging, trying to reach something. Veth was nowhere to be found, her screams piercing the din. Without warning, she fell onto the deck a few yards ahead of the group with a sickening splat, released from a dark, undulating mass that had slammed down onto the forecastle and was sloughing its way up the foremast. Caleb shouted at Essek to get inside, grabbing Jester and running to Veth, leaving Essek to be pushed back and forth by the remaining sailors scrambling through the hatch onto the main deck. 

Essek struggled to blink the rain from his eyes, shielding his face with his hand when something searingly bright exploded in front of him. In the periphery of his vision he caught sight of something moving, another slimy black mess, curling itself over the taffrail. He shouted, pointing at the shape. Fjord turned to him, and then to where he was pointing, shouting over his shoulder for Essek to get back inside as his sword fluoresced an icy blue.

A third tentacle, which Essek hadn’t seen, slammed into Fjord from behind, sending him sprawling over the quarterdeck with his leg bent at a painful angle. Essek shouted once more, but everyone was otherwise occupied and his cries were swallowed by the roar of the storm. 

A crash of lightning slammed into the ship and Essek swore he saw, of all things, an explosion of white feathers. His ribs ached from the deafening thundercrack. 

Swearing violently, Essek wrenched his hands through the motions to produce a fire bolt, then swore again, louder, when Caleb's command word fell flat and nothing came of his effort. He struggled up the slick ladder to where Fjord had been knocked prone, and dragged him as far from the writhing creature as he could manage. 

A lurch of the ship sent them both tumbling, Essek scrambling to keep hold of Fjord’s limp form. He screamed, head pounding, legs throbbing. The only one who heard was Fjord, who stirred in his lap with a groan. 

Somewhere, a bagpipe blared over the roar of water. 

Fjord blinked blearily, wiping at the rivulets of water pooling around his eyes with the back of his hand. “I thought I told you to get inside!”

“That's a monumentally terrible thank you!”

Their argument was interrupted by a loud explosion that made Essek’s ears ring. The tentacle at the bow of the ship reeled back under the waves with an ear piercing screech. 

Fjord shoved at Essek, and the two of them tumbled down the ladder to the main deck. A massive tentacle slammed down inches from where they had lain, sending splinters of wood scattering.

Clambering to his feet, Essek shouted for Caleb. Caleb glanced in their direction right as he let off a fireball, causing it to lurch to the side and fly wide across the water. A large wave knocked both Caleb and Jester off of their feet, smashing them against the bulwark. 

“Essek!”

He whipped around in search of the source of the voice. He saw nothing, but caught another terrified shriek that sounded like it was coming from overboard. He hauled himself to where he thought the voice was coming from, and peered over the rail, bracing for the worst. 

Below he saw Veth clinging to the side of the vessel, presumably thrown by the same wave that had sent Caleb and Jester splaying. He reached for her hand, a painful shock shooting down his right arm as his shoulders screamed in protest. He gritted his teeth, “I can’t.”

Veth’s eyes went wide and she shook her head, “You can, come on Essek!” 

He looked around for something, anything that could help. Caleb was shouting, but he couldn’t make out what he was saying through the rain. He scrambled for the nearest line that he could reach, sliding across the slick deck and pinwheeling his arms to stay upright. Behind him Veth was screeching not to leave her, not to let her drown. The rope was probably important. It was probably some key piece of rigging, and Fjord would probably admonish him for shoving it off the ship. But he didn’t know what else to do. 

Another loud explosion and a tentacle whipped over Essek’s head, smashing into the mainmast. He ducked, losing his balance and falling to his knees. He crawled the rest of the way to Veth, blinking away the pouring rain as he lashed the line around the nearest cleat and pushed the rest of the coil overboard for her to grab onto.

Something hard smacked Essek in the back of the head. His vision went white around the edges. Veth’s little fingers grabbing hold of the caprail were the last thing he saw before white faded to grey faded to black. 

The ship was covered in muddy grey soot, smearing in thick rivulets over the deck. The Nein, save Caleb, were crowded around Fjord and Beau. Caduceus had Fjord’s leg in his hand, imbuing him with soft healing magic. Jester had her attention turned similarly to a series of angry gashes in Beau’s side. Veth was casting nervous glances in Caleb’s direction. The rain had eased into a fine, frigid mist.

Caleb was carefully probing Essek’s head, and Essek hissed in pain when he pressed against his scalp. He could already feel a giant bruise welling up. Caleb had him half pulled into his lap, and he was shaking. Or maybe that was Essek that was shaking. Or they both were. He couldn’t actually tell. 

Caleb was muttering something in his ear, but he didn’t understand the words. He groaned, trying to push himself up. His arm protested and he slumped back against Caleb with a pained grunt.

“Essek? Essek! You are awake!”

Essek grumbled in response, tongue sluggish and head throbbing. 

“Gods, Essek. I thought you were dead. I thought you were- I thought we-” He clung to Essek, wrapping both arms tightly around his chest and pulling him close and a flash of panic reared its ugly head and Essek was _trapped._

“Let go,” he wheezed, then, when Caleb did not respond fast enough, repeated, voice cracking, “Letgoletgoletgo.”

Caleb released him, hands shaking, hovering just away from Essek’s skin. “I’m sorry. I didn’t- I’m sorry.”

Essek tried a second time to hoist himself up. Caleb pushed, nervously ghosting his fingertips over Essek’s skin in support. Righted, the world seemed to spin, and Essek was hit with a wave of nausea. It was only after a moment of disorientation that he realized it was because the ship was still pitching in the rough water. “What. What was that thing?”

Caleb shook his head, looking over Essek like he thought he might shatter. “I do not know.” He glanced at Fjord, who was being helped to his feet by Yasha. “Though I have my suspicions. Do you think you can stand?” 

Essek nodded, pushing down the wave of nausea that curdled in his stomach with the motion. “I think so.” His knees protested under his weight. He was beginning to question whether he actually could stand when Caleb genty tapped him on the bicep.

“You can use me,” he said softly. Essek sighed, angry at himself, but grateful for the help. He twisted himself around to leverage off of Caleb and shakily got to his feet. Caleb followed soon after, only slightly more steadily, and the two of them limped their way over to the rest of the group. 

Leaning on Yasha, Fjord gave instructions to Orly and the crew to only do what repairs were absolutely necessary before making all haste to the nearest port. The Nein collectively stumbled below deck, equal parts to get out of the way and to speak in private.   
  


There was no way to know if it was just bad luck. The giant creature had not spoken. Had made no demands. It could have been hungry. Or it could have been a servant of Uk’otoa. In the first scenario, it highlighted just how ill prepared they were to protect Essek in the event of an attack. In the second, it meant they needed to get off the water. It was no safer there than on land.

Essek slumped in the corner, feeling like a child being shouted over. Caleb and Beau both arguing how he might have been seriously hurt. The sentiment behind their concern could not have been more different. He could not be healed, there was no reason to think he could be resurrected. He could have gotten in the way. He could have died. _Liability. Weak. Useless._

“I would have been dead if it weren’t for Essek, give him a break!” Veth cut in abruptly. 

“Don’t say that!” Jester said, “We’ll always bring you back. Even if I have to use my big diamond for it!” 

Veth wheeled on her, scowling. “Not if I was on the bottom of the ocean, you wouldn’t.”

An uncomfortable silence fell over the group.

“The point still stands.” Beau crossed her arms, and made a point to catch Caleb’s gaze. “If Essek gets beat to shit, this whole stupid plan was for nothing.”

“I’m fine,” Essek argued, rubbing the goose egg on the back of his head. Nevermind he knew without a shadow of a doubt he wouldn’t be able to walk the next day. Avoiding a battle would have done nothing to change that. 

“But you might not have been,” Caleb said, “I agree with Beau. We need a different plan.”

“If this shows us anything, it’s that I need my powers back. Sooner than later,” Essek said, “I would _like_ to know my past.” He paused, glowering at each of them, silently accusing them of withholding that information from him. “But that will not keep me alive. If I was as powerful as you keep telling me, I could more than pull my own weight. As it stands I am, as you say, a liability.”

“If this was Uk’otoa, my leaving the ship would secure us more time.” Fjord said, rubbing at his sternum. 

“And if it wasn’t Uk’otoa we would be down our best sailor,” Beau argued. “There’s a Cobalt Soul archive in Port Damali. We could head there, do some research. Essek should be safe on the ship if we’re in port.”

“We could also speak to Yussa, see if he has any thoughts on the subject.” 

“Oh, oh. I could ask the Traveler! And Fjord, you and Caduceus could talk to the Wildmother!”

“A trip to the library sounds nice…”

They were all speaking at once, and Essek was quickly overwhelmed trying to figure out who was saying what. Somehow, they eventually managed to sort themselves into groups. When they reached port, Jester, Fjord, and Caduceus would stay with Essek. Yasha and Beau would head to the archive in Port Damali. Caleb would teleport himself and Veth to Nicodranas. How they’d managed to decide all that talking over one another, Essek wasn’t sure. But he wasn’t about to argue. 

\---

Jester was staring at the wall with a look that wavered somewhere between intense concentration and constipation. Essek wasn’t sure what was supposed to happen, but whatever it was, apparently didn't. Jester sighed, loud and disappointed. “Fine, fine, fine. No miracles today. I will just call him, it will be fine, don’t worry.”

Essek was worried about many things. He was worried about his magic. About his memories. About Caleb. About being attacked at sea, on land, by air, in the dark. About being trapped, locked away and forgotten. About these people deciding he was more trouble than he was worth. About _being_ more trouble than he was worth. How Jester managed to get in contact with her pseudo-deity was barely a punctuation in a footnote on the list of things that Essek worried about. 

Oblivious to his simmering crisis, Jester settled into his desk chair and adopted that same intense look of concentration, clutching her holy symbol in front of her. “Okay soooo, do you remember Essek? He’s kind of in trouble and we’re trying to figure out how to fix him and I need your help.”

For a moment, there was no response, and Essek resigned himself to listening to her mutter to herself until she admitted defeat. But suddenly there was a man in a green cloak standing next to Essek’s bed, and Essek swore loudly, nearly toppling onto the floor. 

“You’re here!” Jester cried, leaping from the chair and throwing her arms around Artagan’s middle. Essek looked between the two of them, righting himself with a grimace. Unnervingly, though Artagan wrapped his spindly arms around Jester in what looked for all purposes to be a genuinely fond greeting, he completed the entire gesture while making unblinking eye contact with Essek. 

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world!” Artagan said, a smile splitting just a little too widely across his face. “So, what can I do for you?"

“Okay, okay. So first question: Why doesn’t magic work on him?”

Artagan held up a willowy finger, “Yes or no questions, my dear. As much as l _love_ to help, we need to play by the rules.” He raked his gaze over Essek’s body with an uncomfortable intensity, winking and adding, “I’m a reformed man.” 

Essek glared at him in indignant defiance, but did not move from his spot on the bed, uneager to anger an archfey, regardless of his supposed reformation.

“Oh, right, right, ummmm. Do you know… why magic doesn’t work on him?” Jester asked instead. 

Artagan tilted his head to the side, considering. “Mmmhh, maybe.” He prodded Essek in the arm, and Essek froze, staring with murderous intent into the middle distance. Artagan laughed. “Your friend isn’t all here.”

Jester gasped, throwing both hands over her mouth. “You mean he’s _insane_?” 

“No,” Artagan said, “I mean he’s missing. Partially. In two places at once.”

“What is _that_ supposed to mean?”

Artagan held up a finger to Essek’s mouth, “I’m not talking to you pretty boy.”

Jester laughed, a tinny appeasing noise bubbling up as her gaze flickered between the two men. “Sorry, Essek. Do you have a yes or no question? I’ll ask him for you!”

Both Artagan and Jester stared at him, though Artagan’s finger remained planted over his mouth. Essek plucked it away with a dark look. “Can you fix me?”

“Can you fix him?” Jester echoed, oblivious to the absurdity of the relay.

Artagan held Esseks’ gaze a fraction of a moment too long, a predatory glint in his eyes, before turning to reply to Jester. “No. _I_ can’t.” He clapped his hands together, “And with that, my dear, I do believe my work here is done!”

“Hey, wait no! I still have a question left.”

“No you do~on’t,” he sing-songed as he faded from view. 

Jester retraced the conversation, counting questions on her fingers. “I only asked two!” she whined. 

Essek sighed, slumping back into his pillows. “You asked if I was insane.”

“Aw man.”

\---

Everyone reconvened over dinner and the passing of bowls, and plates and clinking utensils. At Caduceus’s insistence everyone was crowded into the wardroom. Not designed for so many (or such large) people at once, the table was full to bursting. 

Beau had found little in the way of internal magic blocking, but more resources than she had been able to read on instilling items with the property. Beau suspected that there must be some way to apply the same concept to a person, but had not been able to find it. Caleb scribbled down some notes, and Veth wriggled with excitement at the prospect of creating another new spell. 

Yasha had found examples of memory altering magics through many cultures, but found little on magic strong enough to affect more than a single memory. Beau cut in, reminding everyone of Adeen Tasithar (more than one awkward glance was spared in Essek’s direction, and he bristled under the attention, everyone _knowing_ something he did not), and how his symptoms bore more than a passing resemblance to the ones Essek was suffering.

Yussa had abstained from comment without having the subject before him to examine. His use of the word ‘subject’ had put both Caleb and Veth on edge, and they collectively agreed that would probably not be the best avenue to go down, unless they exhausted all other leads. 

Caduceus, between ponderous sips of tea, informed everyone that he was happy to report the Wildmother believed that Essek’s memories were recoverable, but they did not currently possess the means to do so. Fjord added that she seemed to indicate that Dunamancy was probably the only way to get them back. 

Essek had been present for Jester’s less than productive interview, and tuned out most of her drawn out, and extremely generous retelling of Artagan’s helpfulness. 

Beau, talking over a large mouthful of food, pointed out that whether or not the Luxon was a god, it was from whence Essek’s powers had come, and all signs pointed to it being the source of the powers that fettered him. If anything could bring him back, it would be a beacon.

“Are you saying you want to steal back a beacon?” Veth said, “because, I’ll remind you, we literally _just_ gave the last one to Xhorhas.”

“Well, no. But the Empire managed to find one in situ. Maybe we can too, if we figure out where they come from.”

Caleb sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. “And how do you suggest we do what neither the Empire nor the Dynasty has managed to do, Beauregard?"

Beau bristled under his scrutiny, throwing her arms in the air, “I don’t know! Research? Comb the libraries some more?”

“The libraries that the Dynasty and the Empire have, no doubt, been utilizing in their own research,” Caleb pointed out, voice the precise, clipped monotone he adopted when he felt like he was explaining something incredibly simple to someone incredibly stupid. 

“Well do you have a better idea?”

“No, but-”

“I need to try _something_ ,” Essek interrupted. “I cannot just sit here being useless any longer.” 

Caleb slumped in his chair, distracting himself with the roasted vegetables on his plate. “Of course.”

“Okay. Cool,” Mollified, Beau wiped her hands on her pants and picked up her fork, gesturing with it as she spoke. “We start with the Soul. See what resources they have that the Assembly hasn’t co-opted?”

A soft murmur of agreement passed over the group. 

“Then it’s settled. We’re finding ourselves a beacon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize to Yasha, she's getting a scene, I promise.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to thank everyone so very much for the kudos and the comments and the support, it means so much! And I'm so sorry for how long this thing is, I'm apparently incapable of decent chapter lengths. Still unbetaed. Let me know if I missed anything goofy!
> 
> New CWs for this chapter include self destructive behavior and suicidal ideation.

It was a restless night. Though the storm had ebbed and the creature was nowhere to be seen, the crew was on edge. Those not on watch tossed and turned and knew no peace. Exhaustion and pain had forced Essek to crash into fitful unconsciousness. But sometime in the night Essek jolted upright with a gasp, disoriented and short of breath. The moon cast dim shadows across the cabin, swaying as the ship rocked on gentle waves. Frumpkin yowled in discontent and slunk from the bed onto Caleb’s cot. From the safety of Caleb’s lap he shot Essek a baleful glare.

The start with which Caleb awoke was nearly as abrupt as Essek’s, and an indignant Frumpkin hissed at him before sliding off his lap as well. “Essek, are you alright?”

Essek mumbled something unintelligible. Whether nonsense words, or Undercommon, Caleb couldn’t tell. 

“You shouted, Essek,” Caleb tried again, “Did something happen?”

Essek rubbed his face, digging his nails into the flesh underneath his eyes with a discontented whine. “I’m sorry. I think… I thought I was somewhere else.”

Caleb patted the edge of his cot, coaxing Frumpkin back to him. He scratched the suspicious fae behind the ears until he settled back into his lap with an indignant snuffle. “Where were you?” He asked, attention turned back to Essek.

“I don’t remember now.”

“Ah,” Caleb nodded sympathetically down at Frumpkin. “I have nightmares like that too.”

Essek rolled over to peer down at Caleb. His eyes reflected the moonlight and glowed an eerie pale yellow. Like cats’ eyes. “I don’t want to go back,” he whispered, face half buried in his blanket. 

“Where?” It struck Caleb how young Essek looked. And how old Caleb felt.

“I don’t know. Wherever I thought I was.” 

“Mmh, I can understand that.” Caleb wasn’t sure what possessed him to do it, but he reached out with his hand held open, palm up in invitation. The silence dragged out between them and Caleb was just about to chastise his sentimentality and pull his hand away when Essek’s clammy fingers laced with his. 

“Would you read to me?” Essek buried his face lower into the safety of the blanket, using it as a shield to avoid Caleb’s gaze as he mumbled his request. 

“Ja. Sure.” With a gesture of his free hand, soft amber globules began orbiting their heads in lazy circles. The only book Caleb had in arms reach was in Zemnian, but it filled the dark space. Essek didn’t ask him to translate, and eventually his eyes slipped shut, lulled into the edge of a trance by the gentle drone of Caleb’s voice. 

They sat, with time stretching around them in the warm glow. Caleb reading and Essek drawing absent shapes on the inside of Caleb’s wrist. Caleb paused, glancing down at their joined hands. “Are you doing that on purpose?”

Essek dragged his eyes open, peering down at Caleb through the haze. “Doing what?” he murmured, voice rough with exhaustion. 

“The shapes you are drawing,” Caleb said. He shifted his weight to face Essek, heart clenching at the softness gentling Essek’s tired features. “Do you know what they are?”

Essek pushed his head up onto his forearm, his cheek smushing against his eye. He had filled out, Caleb thought, if only a little. The sharp edge of his cheekbone not quite as harsh in the dim light. “Just doodles? Not really anything specific.”

“I thought I recognized one. Perhaps I was mistaken.”

Essek hummed, stilling but not retracting his hand. “I can stop if it's bothersome.”

“No. Please continue.” Then after a moment’s consideration, Caleb hastily added, “If you’d like. You do not have to.”

Essek laughed, burying his face once more. “I will if you keep reading.”

“I can do that.”

\---

They made good time to Port Damali even with the damage to the hull. The weather was fair and their voyage was uninterrupted by more intrepid sea monsters. Much of the crew took the opportunity to spill out into the city, disappearing into whatever seedy taverns and brothels they could find, coin burning holes in their pockets. Marius made quick work of returning to the ship with the supplies that Essek had quietly asked him for. A good man, if a bit naive. Essek wasn’t complaining. 

Orly and Fjord were organizing repairs for the Nein Heroez, shouting and pointing and coordinating with contractors. The rest of the Nein were scattered to the winds, working their own various esoteric activities. Essek’s first project, if it could be called such, was locating Beau. 

He found her in the officer’s cabin, contorted into a stretch which left him momentarily speechless. He didn’t mean to gape, he really didn’t. Gaping was entirely unhelpful in getting on her good side. Nevertheless, he gaped. 

Essek cleared his throat, trying to school his features into something passively interested rather than morbidly fascinated. She glanced over her shoulder, under her foot at him with an eyebrow raised in question. “Ah. Uh, Beau, I am sorry to bother you. I was wondering if I could come with you tomorrow?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea Essek.” Beau released her leg, bending forward into a handstand. He hurt just watching her. 

Essek lingered in the entrance to the cabin, not yet willing to intrude. “I would be more helpful there than hiding here.” He gestured with a thumb in the vague direction of his own cabin and the oppressive monotony it symbolized. 

She bent her elbows, lowering herself downward and held the position while she spoke, glaring up at him through a sweaty fringe of hair that had gotten stuck to her forehead. “Yeah, assuming you don’t get shanked for being a drow outside of Xhorhas.” 

“Is the situation truly so dire?” Essek asked, frowning, “I thought you said the war was over.”

She pushed herself back up into a handstand. “I’d rather not find out with a bastard who can’t be healed.”

Essek sighed, trying not to wince as she moved. “Beau. Please. You have some power in this place. You’re telling me you cannot ensure my safety in a library?”

“It’s not _in_ the archive that I’m worried about. It’s getting there. It’s someone seeing you who shouldn’t and sending word to the Assembly, or the Dynasty. It’s you ending up with a knife in the back because you’re a drow in the wrong country.” One of Beau’s legs fell forward and then the other, and then she was _up_. Somewhere within the fluid motion she produced a throwing star that whizzed past Essek’s head and embedded into the wood a few inches to his left. A threat or a punctuation, he couldn’t tell. 

Essek shied from the projectile and laughed. He was aiming for dismissive, but it came out more nervous. “But I’m no good to anyone sitting here doing nothing.”

Beau padded over to a towel that lay discarded on the floor. She wiped her face and arms before tossing it at his head. “Help Caleb and Veth with their dunamancy project.”

Disgusted by the very thought of her stink and her sweat getting anywhere near him, he took a step backwards. The towel fell into a heap on the floor between them. “They don’t need my help, Beau. I would just be in the way.”

Beau sighed, crossing her arms. “Essek, come on. Caleb would kick my ass if he found out I let you out into the city.”

Essek schooled his features before a triumphant grin could split across his face and ruin his efforts. All waffling dismissed like the towel on the floor, Essek strode into the room, head tilted to the side as he locked eyes with Beau. “I didn’t realize you answered to Caleb.”

Beau narrowed her eyes and matched his movements. When they ran out of space and were standing toe to toe she made a point of looking _down_ at him. “Oh, look at you thinking you’re so clever. And when that cleverness gets you killed, and I have to tell him that all of this was for nothing because you’re bled out in a ditch? What then?” 

Essek shrugged. “Lie, I suppose. Tell him I wandered off. Disappeared into the night. I’m sure you can come up with something.”

They stood in silence as she considered. 

“...Fine.” She jabbed a finger into his chest, “But you _owe me_.”

He grinned. “Of course."

\---

Essek liked Jester. He really did. She was loud, overbearing, and had far too much energy for any one person. But she was also kind to a fault, and he had need of that kindness. 

He waited until she was done speaking with Caduceus and was skipping towards the ladder to the main deck before drifting up behind her. “Jester? I have something for you.”

Jester swung around in a whirlwind of color. “Essek, I didn’t hear you! What do you have? Is it a gift?”

Essek smiled as he bowed his head and held out the box Marius had picked up for him. “You found me out.”

She jumped up and down, holding the box out to admire the pink paper and blue bow, and then smothered it against her chest in a hug. “Oooooh! What’s the occasion?” 

Essek considered warning her not to crush it but decided that it ultimately didn’t matter what kind of battery she subjected it to. He urged her onwards towards the ladder. Jester dashed ahead, glancing at him over her shoulder as they spoke. “Just a thank you, for being such a good friend to me.”

She skipped every other stair as she bounded up onto the main deck. Essek climbed the ladder a much more respectable one step at a time. The evening sky was clear and the shrill call of gulls was loud overhead. “That’s so nice Essek, thank you!” Jester danced her way across the deck, twirling and laughing. Eventually she waltzed herself and her present all the way to the rail, peering out over the sea.

“You’re very welcome,” Essek said as he leaned on the rail next to her. He gestured to the box. “Open it, please. How has your day been?”

Jester squealed in excitement when she unwrapped the box of chocolates, and she offered him one before shoving two into her own mouth. They talked, and ate, and Jester laughed. She rambled about the Mighty Nein’s adventures, and the places that she’d been. About places she loved and places she didn’t. He asked her about the Coast, and her home in Nicodranas, and the conversation inevitably turned to her mother like he knew it would. How fantastic she was, (in case he’d forgotten since he last saw her).

Essek absently tapped his fingers against the polished wood of the rail. “That reminds me… Jester, do you know what my family name is by chance?”

Jester frowned and brushed a lock of loose hair behind her ear. “Oh, well. I'm. I mean. It’s basically Nein, right? Because we’re totally your family. Or, OH! I’m sure Momma wouldn’t mind if you wanted to be a Lavorre!”

Essek laughed, looking out over the ocean. “Thank you. But I meant in Xhorhas. The book Beau gave me indicated that Dynastic families are organized into Dens. Do you know what mine is?”

“Ummm… Well. We’re kind of not supposed to talk about that, you know? Because you’re supposed to remember on your own and stuff?”

He bumped leaned against her with his shoulder, gently jostling. “Surely there is nothing harmful in knowing my family name?” 

“I mean. I guess.”

Essek tilted his head in expectation, and gestured for her to take another sweet. “If you don’t trust me, I understand.”

“Nooo! That’s not it at all. I just don’t want you to be sad.” Jester was worrying at her lower lip, but had completely missed the smudge of chocolate at the corner of her mouth.

“Alright. That’s fine.” Essek patted the rail once, twice, and turned to leave. “Thank you anyway. I think I’m going to take some time for myself. Please, enjoy the chocolate.”

Jester grabbed at his arm, nearly dumping the box’s entire contents in her effort. “Oh, Essek, please don’t go! It’s Thelyss. Now c’mon. Come and eat more chocolate with me. It’ll make you feel better.” She shoved the box at him, and Essek took an offered sweet, smiling at her. 

He leaned over and gave her a one armed hug. “Thank you, Jester. Perhaps I’ll stay for a little while longer.”

\---

The next day Essek was wrapped head to toe in thick, nondescript fabrics. A heavy hooded cloak obscured his features and shielded him from the midday sun. He thought the disguise was overkill, and could feel the sweat beading at the nape of his neck before he and Beau had even disembarked.

He had been in cities before. He must have been. But his only real memory was slinking through the shadows of a Nicodranas night, taking alleyways and side streets to avoid prying eyes. A bustling Port Damali morning, pushing through closely packed streets and past shouting hawkers and sailors was more overwhelming than he had imagined it might be. The noise set him on edge, and he had to shove down an unexpected well of anxiety as he hurried after Beau.

At the archive Beau introduced him as Ildan Dyrr, an expatriated scholar displaced by the war. Essek waved in quiet greeting, throat still tight, he did not trust his voice not to waver. Beyond the introduction, not another moment was spared considering whether he was meant to be there or not. If Expositor Lionett deemed him acceptable, that was apparently enough. 

They asked for everything that could be found about Dunamis. About the beacons. 

Essek waited an hour before he tried sneaking away. Until the books had arrived and Beau had buried herself behind a truly massive pile of papers and tomes and notes. An electric shock ran down the inside of his arm from the strain of lifting his chair off the ground. But the chair didn’t make a sound as he pushed himself away from the table, and Beau did not stir from her studies.  
  
  


He did not go to the first attendant that he found, nor the second. The third looked sufficiently distracted for his purposes, and Essek waved him down. “Excuse me, sir. My name is Ildan. I’m assisting Expositor Lionett researching Xhorhassian magics? There is a drow mage, a wizard if my information is correct, who is a specialist in dunamancy, the school that we’re studying. I was wondering if I might see if there is any information on him? If we could find him he might be very helpful to our efforts.”

“Of course, sir. Name and any pertinent information on the individual?” The attendant was looking down at his clipboard, barely acknowledging the person speaking to him. Essek smiled anyway. 

“His name is Essek Thelyss. I believe he is a courtier in Rosohna, but I’m not certain.”

The man nodded and scribbled in his notes. “I will see what I can find, and inform the Expositor of my findings?”

“Ah, actually, if you could just bring it to me?” Essek pushed down the man’s clipboard with a finger and leaned into his line of sight with an apologetic smile. “I wouldn’t want to bother the Expositor before I’m sure whether this is a lead we can follow.”

The man pulled his clipboard back up and nodded, turning to leave. “Of course, sir.”  
  
  


“Essek.”

“Beau, have you found anything?” She had been quiet for quite some time, he’d nearly forgotten she was there. 

“Not as much as you, Essek Thelyss.” She had a folder clutched in her hand with a vice grip. It had his name on it.

Ah. 

Shit.

“Is that the only reason you came here?” She asked, pressing through his silence, “To go behind our backs and research yourself?” 

Essek inhaled deeply, pursing his lips like he actually had to consider her question. More he was considering how best to get the folder out of her hands. “It was not the _only_ reason, no. But I will not lie and say that it was not _a_ reason.”

She whipped the folder in the direction of the door. “Get out.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me, Essek. Get out.”

Being kicked out of the library was, admittedly, not an outcome he had anticipated. Essek laughed in disbelief. “What happened to worrying about me being stabbed in the street?”

Beau’s gaze hardened. She was pacing, gesturing with the folder like it was a weapon. “You’re not concerned about it, why should I be? Gods. You really are a snake, you know that? You can’t even help it. You just _are_.”

Something bitter and defensive riled up in Essek and he found himself grinding his teeth, biting back bitter, venomous words that would only prove her point. “How does wanting to know who I am make me a snake!”

Beau balled her free hand into a fist. For a brief moment, staring at that fist, the only thing Essek could think of was whether punching an already broken nose had any hope of straightening it back to its original shape and it took him a moment to realize she was still talking. “-s going behind my back! It’s not trusting us when we say it’s for your own good! It’s putting us all in danger to indulge your stupid, impulsive _curiosity_.”

Essek’s fury was incandescent and he lurched to his feet to glare up at Beau. “ _Fine_. I err to your infinite wisdom in all matters pertaining to my personhood.” He bowed low, sneering. “Anything else before I take my leave, your majesty?”

“Oh, fuck off.”

“I plan to.” He intended to storm off to punctuate his point. He mostly limped. 

\---

Beau’s booming voice echoed down the passageway long before she peered into the jury rigged workshop. “Yo! Caleb! Where’s Essek? I need to show him something.”

Caleb glanced down at Veth, who shrugged. “What do you mean, ‘Where’s Essek’? He’s in his room.”

Beau disappeared as quickly as she had arrived. Then after a few moments her heavy foot falls returned and she shouted down again, “He’s not in there!” 

Caleb rushed to pack up his notes. Veth followed suit. “That’s where he said he’d be this morning,” he hollered, scrambling out to find Beau.

Beau was quiet then, saying nothing until she saw the two of them staring up at her from the bottom of the ladder. She ran her fingers over her undercut. “No, he. Uh. He came to the archive with me.”

“What?” Veth and Caleb said in unison. 

“Yeah. Listen. It was a stupid idea. He only wanted to do it to research himself. So I sent him back here.”

“By himself?” Caleb said, pushing her out of the way as he burst onto the main deck to check Essek's cabin for himself, as if Beau might have somehow missed an adult drow hiding in a corner. 

“Well, yeah. He was being a dickhead. Look, probably not my brightest idea. Fine, chew me out later. But where is he? He needs to see this.” She held up a folder. 

They looked all over the ship, bottom to top. They enlisted the rest of the Nein. They enlisted the crew. Essek wasn’t on board. No one had seen him since he left with Beau that morning. The only conclusion was that Essek was missing in the largest city on the coast.

He could not be scried upon. He could not be sent to. They spent hours scouring the roads and alleyways between the docks and the archive, asking questions and greasing palms but came up with nothing. No one had seen a drow.

Exhausted and disheartened, everyone returned to the Nein Heroes to regroup. Some more willingly than others.

\---

Hours later, as the sun was setting and hope was dimming with it, Essek stumbled his way back to the harbor. His hood was thrown down around his shoulders and a mostly empty bottle of cheap liquor swung loosely in his fingers. He was about to bypass the Heroez entirely, when Orly spotted him and hollered down. Essek squinted, waving in Orly’s general direction. He called back a slurred, unintelligible greeting before stumbling onwards down the docks. 

  
  


A few minutes later Beau jogged up after him. “Hey man.”

Essek threw his head back and groaned in exasperation. Of all the people he wanted to see in that moment, Beau was last on the list. When he spoke, his accent was thick and soupy. “What d’you want?”

She gestured behind them with a thumb. “To get you back onto the ship.”

“Why?” He stumbled, and would have fallen if Beau hadn’t grabbed him by the scruff of his cloak. “I’m a. A. Snake.” He dragged out the ‘s’ like a hiss because he was petty and bitter and too drunk to care. “Snakes don’t live on ships.”

Beau grimaced. “Yeah, well. Snakes can’t get drunk off their ass either, so maybe I was wrong. Where did you get that swill anyway?” 

Essek grinned up at her, all hard lines and sharp teeth, “I lied.”

“Right… Can we talk?”

“Why?”

Beau sighed. “Because our last conversation didn’t turn out so well. And that wasn’t… Entirely your fault.”

Essek grunted. 

“Look. I can’t imagine how frustrating it is, not being able to remember who you are. And knowing there are people who do know… You’re a genius. Of course you’d try to figure out where you came from.”

“S’fine.” He tried to take a drink, and managed mostly to spill down his front. 

“No, no. It’s not fine. It was shitty of me. Here,” Beau held out a piece of paper. The symbols on the pag swam and tangled, and he could make neither heads nor tails of what was written on it. 

“Wh’s this?”

“It’s the information you asked for.”

It took him far too long to recall what information he had asked for. “S’me?”

“Yeah. It’s you. There’s not a lot there. We don’t have a big foothold in Rosohna, and the work you did was kept under pretty tight wraps. But. Some of it I didn’t know. You have a younger brother.” She pushed the paper at him, and he fumbled to crumple it into his free hand.

“What?”

“Yeah, um. Verin. He’s a Taskhand as Bazzoxan.”

Essek stared at her. He may, at one point, have known what those words meant. But in that moment they were just white noise in which he could find no context. “I dunno what that means.”

“Me either. You never talked about him. Maybe you guys weren’t on speaking terms, even before everything went to shit, but. If we could, what do you think about trying to get in contact with him?”

Essek blinked, wide eyed and unfocused. “We could do that?”

Beau held up her palms, tempering his expectations. “We could _try_. I have no idea if we’d be able to.”

Essek tripped over a cobblestone and Beau had to catch him once more. His face crumpled into something miserable. “What if he hates me?”

“I dunno, man. You’ve still got us, even if he does.”

Essek tried to point at her, but pointed over her shoulder instead, hand wavering. “You hate me.” He said, confident of his assessment.

“No I don-- Listen,” Beau scrubbed at her face. “This is probably a conversation we should be having when you’re sober.”

“Jus’say it.”

“You are. Infuriating. You are smart, and talented, and the smuggest, most entitled bastard I have ever met. I thought that I had you figured out. I was riding high on my own success, and I thought I had you so nailed down. I was wrong. You betrayed our kindness. You betrayed our trust. I think… I was mad you beat me at my own game. That you were fucking better at that too. Then you got what you deserved. And all I saw was this sad, pathetic little man. You were broken, and harmless. Except you’re not, are you? You’re still the same smart, talented, smug bastard that you were before. You managed to manipulate me _again_. I hate fucking underestimating people, and that’s my problem. Not yours.” 

Interrupting her speech, Beau wheeled on Essek and jabbed a finger into his chest. “But you stop lying to me, or I swear I will punch you in that smug fucking mouth.” He wobbled, and the liquor bottle fell from his hands with a crash on the cobblestones. Essek made a small, disappointed sound of protest, staring at the shattered glass. 

“Didn’t lie,” Essek grumbled, “O-omitt’d.”

Beau clenched her fists, bringing one up in front of Essek’s face in an unspoken threat. “Gods, you are such a little shit. Will you _please_ get your ass back on the boat? Caleb’s giving himself an ulcer worrying about you. And Caduceus won’t let me come back unless I have you with me.”

Essek couldn't help but smile. “I like Caleb.”

“Yeah, I figured” She sighed, grabbing him by the cloak in an attempt to steer him around the glass and back to the ship. “Let's go find him, huh?”

He liked that idea. On his list of people he wanted to see, Caleb was pretty well near the top. “Alright.”

\---

The next day Beau offered to take Essek back to the archive. He declined, citing a hangover, but there was a tired evasiveness in his expression that spoke to a deeper, lingering suspicion. Instead he lurked in the workshop with Veth and Caleb, watching them work. He tucked himself out of the way, but passed them tools when requested.

Caleb and Veth worked for days, trying desperately to modify detect magic. Locate object. Scry. But neither of them specialized in divination magic, and it was largely trial and error. (Largely error.) Essek was of little use, and spent much of the time thumbing through the book Beau had given him. Reading and rereading, he found exactly one mention of his name under a chapter dedicated to the cobwebby genealogies of the High Dens. 

“Essek Thelyss b. 715 PD. New soul. Child of U. Deirta / Ravus.”

That was it. 

How he got from there to here, he couldn’t fathom. The paper from the archive called him Shadowhand. Cross referencing the notes with the book, he found the Shadowhand to be in charge of something called the Lens, which, so far as he could tell, was some kind of intelligence agency. In the book the name attached to the position was not his own, some predecessor that he had no recollection of. 

The position would explain why information on him was fleeting, he supposed. Had he sold secrets to Dynasty enemies? No. Beau also saw him as deserving of punishment. If he were a turncoat, that should have ingratiated him to her, not the opposite. What could he have done that would have called for imprisonment, torture, and execution? And barring that, the stripping of his mind and powers? Something to do with national security was the natural assumption for an individual in such a position. But beyond the trade of state secrets, he just didn’t have enough information to-

“Hey, Essek?” Veth’s croaking voice broke through his train of thought. 

Essek dragged his nose out of his book to blink up at Veth and Caleb, both of whom had somehow managed to stop whatever they were working on and crossed the room all without him noticing. 

“I said your name three times,” she said.

Essek rubbed his forehead and quickly shoved the paper into the book, marking the only proof of his existence. “I’m sorry, my mind was wandering. What do you need?”

Caleb gestured to their chalkboard. Their chalkboard which had only been a third full the last time Essek looked at it, and was suddenly full to bursting. “Would you come take a look at this? My equation isn’t balancing. Neither of us can see where the problem is.”

Essek closed the book, and shoved it under some stray papers. He stood to stare at the stream of numbers and symbols littering the chalkboard. It was wrong. He could tell, just by looking at it, that it was wrong. But he couldn’t say why. The longer he looked, the more nebulous the equation became. He held a piece of chalk up and froze, a thought occurred to him. 

“What if we’re going about this the wrong way? What if, rather than trying to detect Dunamis, we look for the effect that it has on the Material Plane?”

Caleb frowned, still focused on his equation. “How do you mean?” 

Essek underlined two strands of numbers, marked for time and gravity. “What if ambient proximity to a beacon causes time dilation? A gravity well? What if rather than looking for the beacon unto itself, we look for how beacons interact with the world around them?”

That got Caleb’s attention. “That’s… We would have to start from scratch. I do not think any divination spell would lend itself to that kind of detection. It’s closer to evocation? Transmutation? That is a brilliant idea Essek.”

Essek preened under the praise, nodding and circling other potentially relevant threads on the chalkboard. “It would be incredibly subtle, otherwise I can only imagine others would have noticed the effect and uncovered them by now.” 

“Ja, ja. But it is something to start with! I can work with this. Ah… I need my spell book.” And Caleb was off. 

\---

Even beginning immediately, it took the better part of a week just to gather supplies. Then the matter of building the device, imbuing it with enchantments, and correctly calibrating it. Essek fell into an easy rhythm, dancing around Veth and Caleb. Finding them tools and correcting their math. He was neither enchanter nor artificer, but with them he was creating nonetheless. It was achingly familiar and better than anything Essek could remember. It was home. 

Finally came the moment of truth. Veth pressed the activator on their newly constructed gravimeter, and the room went silent but for a soft whirring from the machine. All three of them collectively held their breath. 

A soft chime and the needle swung ponderously around the compass, as if considering where best to land before settling eastward. A pressure gauge released and the rangefinder inched outwards, stilling at the 45 mile mark and the machine went silent once more.

Veth let out a triumphant woop and wrapped her arms around Caleb’s knees. 

Essek laughed, disbelieving. “It worked.”

Caleb echoed his laugh, reaching out as if to hug him. Thinking better of it, he faltered with his arms half outstretched, waiting for permission to pull Essek into the shared embrace.

Caleb’s incandescent expression filled Essek with something soft and warm and unnameable. A desire to touch. To rejoice. To wrap himself around that feeling and hold it close. Hold _him_ close. 

Guided by excitement and fondness and some strange feeling like deja vu, his hands found their home sliding through the three day old stubble on Caleb’s jaw. Caleb’s lips parted in a soft sigh and he leaned into the touch like a cat chasing affection. Essek pushed himself up onto the balls of his feet and pressed their lips together. At his calf, he felt the squeeze of Veth’s hand and he smiled against Caleb’s mouth. 

Caleb’s hands fell, resting feather light on Essek’s waist. They lingered there, soft salt chapped lips and fingers stroking warm, rough, perfect stubble. Calloused thumbs pressed into his ribs like anchors, grounding him in the moment. He could get lost in the feeling of joy and warm and _together_.

Caleb gently pushed him away, “Essek, stop-”

Rejection was a bucket of cold water dumped over Essek’s shoulders. He froze. “I'm. I'm so sorry. Was that not-?”

Caleb gently took Essek by the wrists, dislodging Essek’s palms from the sides of his face. Essek could still feel the lingering scratchy burn in his fingertips. “Please. I’m flattered, and I’m- That isn’t to say I’m- I just. I’m sorry. I have to go. Um. Tell the others the good news.”

Caleb was scratching his arms as he turned tail and fled the room. He left a gobsmacked Veth and a gutted Essek in his wake. 

“I fucked up,” Essek said, voice wrecked. 

Veth slipped her hand into his and squeezed. Her skin was smooth and cool. Everything Caleb's wasn't. “Let’s get the lab cleaned up. You and me, okay?”

\---

Even though he had insisted in no uncertain terms that he would not be left behind when the Nein left to retrieve the artifact, when they actually did set out Essek complained. Loudly. Colorfully. He had no skill with horses. With animals in general, it seemed. And he took out his inadequacy on anyone and anything unfortunate enough to be within his orbit. This included passing bushes, rocks, the birds circling overhead, and his incredibly tolerant mare, who dismissed his sour attitude with little more than the occasional flick of her ear.   
  
  


Midway through the day, Jester took it upon herself to give Essek something more productive to do with his time. Which, to her, consisted of an extremely serious game of I, Spy. 

Veth seized the opportunity to butt her pony in front of Caleb’s horse, forcing him to drop back. Once she had a good three horse-lengths between her and the next hindmost horse, she backed off to walk parallel with him. “So… You and Essek…”

Caleb very pointedly did not meet her gaze, scowling somewhere into the middle distance that absolutely was not Essek’s horse. “What about us Veth?”

Veth rolled her eyes, “You know. The kiss?” This wasn’t a conversation she really wanted to have. Too many things she absolutely didn’t want to think about all molded into one angst ridden ginger ball. 

His mouth went tight at the corners. “What about it?”

Essek tried and failed to pretend like he wasn’t looking over his shoulder at the two of them. Veth waved in acknowledgement and his gaze snapped forward and stayed there. “Don’t you want to talk about it?”

“There is nothing to talk about.”

Veth frowned, the leather of her saddle creaking as she shifted her weight. “I mean… I feel like there is.”

Caleb sighed, finally turning to meet her gaze. “I turned him down, what more do you want?”

“That’s. Kind of what I’m confused about. I thought you liked him.” She wasn’t even sure she liked the idea of Caleb and Essek together. Nor why she was suddenly defending Essek instead of Caleb. Maybe because this _was_ about defending Caleb. It was about Caleb having a chance to be happy. And Caleb shooting down that chance before it even had an opportunity to go anywhere.

“Liking someone does not mean it is a good idea to pursue them.” 

Veth wondered if he was only speaking about Essek in that moment, or if it included the lingering shadow of old affections. “In the scope of bad ideas, a kiss seems kind of small beans compared to risking another war to save him from certain death.”

Caleb scowled. “It is completely different. Besides, he doesn’t know who he is. He doesn’t know who _I_ am. How can he possibly know that’s really what he wants?” His horse snorted under him, throwing its head in agitation. He turned away from Veth to soothe the animal, and used the distraction to hide behind his bangs. 

“What about what _you_ want?” 

“What I want doesn’t matter Veth.”

“Caleb…” Veth faltered, reaching out to touch his knee. “You’re allowed to be happy. Even if it’s with someone like Essek.”

Caleb turned to her, face scrunched in second hand offence. “What do you mean ‘someone like--’. No, nevermind, it doesn’t matter. Things are too complicated right now. It is not the right time.”

“When is the right time?”

Caleb was quiet for a long while, watching Essek and Jester talk far ahead of them. “When he is whole again.”

“What if we can’t do that?”

“Then I’ll just keep protecting him!” Caleb’s voice was sharp, and Fjord turned to look at the two of them. Caleb dismissed him with an apologetic wave. 

“I think he’d rather you kiss him than protect him.”

Caleb glared at her, hard and challenging. “And what if I don’t want to?”

“ _Don’t you?_ ”

His pained silence was answer enough.

“If you’re not interested in him, that’s fine. But maybe, you know, tell him that? Because you’re sending some pretty intense mixed messages right now?”

\---

Essek caught Caleb glancing at him throughout the day, but holding his gaze made his stomach churn. He turned his attention to his horse’s ears bobbing pendulously with each step, distracting himself with the beat of hoof falls.

Some time after noon, with Jester prattling on about the scenery and pleading with him to guess which rock she was thinking of, he started getting pins and needles in his feet. The stretch of the afternoon was measured in the progressive numbess. By the time the sun was turning the sky orange, he had lost feeling to his knees and there was a red hot wire of pain shooting from his armpit to his fingers. The worse it got, the quieter it left him. No energy left to complain when the very act of existing was exhausting. Jester praised herself and he didn't have the heart to correct her.

Everything hurt. As the day dragged on it seemed like the best idea in the world to just roll off the horse and allow his hateful, defiant body be trampled by the rest of the damned, stinking beasts. And maybe he would have, if only his body would just _move_. 

\---

When the first stars were winking into view and the sun crept behind the horizon, they tied up their horses for the night. Essek’s legs gave out from underneath him as he slid clumsily out of the saddle. He landed hard on his ass and his hoarse shout sent his horse skittering away from him, wide eyed and snorting. He sat on the ground, fingers tangled in his hair as Beau and Yasha chased down the agitated beast. He should be grateful for their help, should _tell_ them he was grateful for their help. But he just didn’t have the energy to care. 

Once the horses had finally settled and were grazing quietly, focus shifted to accommodations for the evening. The initial hope was to see whether Caleb’s Hut would allow Essek inside the dome. It was cast once, with Essek sitting awkwardly next to Caleb, and the spell fizzled out. Then again, with Essek sulking next to their pile of gear. The Hut flared to life, but when Yasha tried to help him in, his legs buckled and he collapsed once more, blinking back tears when she went through the forcefield and he did not. So they broke out their tents for the first time in ages. 

When talks rounded on who was to be bunking with whom, Caleb’s gaze immediately turned to Essek, but quickly skittered off to Veth. She scowled at him and jutted her chin in Essek’s direction. He shot her a pleading look, but she just crossed her arms over her chest and nodded more insistently towards Essek. 

Defeated and sullen, Caleb shuffled over to the brooding drow. He held Frumpkin against his chest, a shield between them.

“Ah. Hallo…” 

Essek scowled up at him, too tired and sore to deal with pity, “You don’t need to coddle me, Caleb. I know I overstepped. I won’t do it again.” 

“Can we talk?” 

Essek was trapped in the worst way possible. Not bound or tied, but a prisoner to his own defiant, exhausted body. There was no way for him to escape the conversation unless Caleb left him, and it made his sour mood even more acerbic. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

Caleb crouched down across from him. Frumpkin spilled from his arms onto the ground and butted his head against Essek’s leg. “No. There is too much to talk about. Please. If you wish me to leave once I have said my piece, I will switch tents with Veth.”

Essek chewed on the inside of his cheek and glanced over at Veth, who was watching him like a hawk from the periphery of a conversation between Caduceus and Fjord. She gave him an encouraging nod. He sighed. “Fine. Help me up.”

There was no affection in the gesture. No intimacy in how heavily Essek leaned on Caleb, or how Caleb’s arm wrapped tight around his waist as he dragged Essek over to their tent. As soon as he was close enough to the cot that he could direct his fall, Essek pushed away from Caleb and collapsed, manually hauling up his legs.

“Speak,” he said, staring pointedly at his feet. 

Caleb sighed, “I’m sorry. I was very rude to you. And you do not deserve that.”

“You said no. There’s nothing rude about that.”

Caleb flushed, scratching at his wrist. “I like you, Essek. More than I probably should. But what we have now is a good thing, and I do not think we should be… Messing with a good thing. Not before you have all the facts. About yourself. And about me.”

A muscle in Essek’s cheek twitched, a side effect of forcing himself not to sneer. “The only reason I do not know all the facts about myself is because you have elected to hide them from me.”

“By this time tomorrow, you will hopefully have all of your memories returned to you, everything I could tell you and more.”

“And what about you?”

Caleb in heavily, exhaled on a shaky sigh. “I am not the sort of man who is worth getting attached to, Essek.”

Essek frowned, his brow furrowed in confusion. “I don’t understand.”

“I am a bad man, I-”

“ _Caleb_.” There was an edge to Essek’s voice as he interrupted Caleb’s train of thought. 

“What?”

“I was imprisoned for something so horrible you will not even tell me what it is.”

“You paid for your sins, Essek. I have not.”

“What _sins_?” Essek pleaded softly. 

So Caleb told him. Every ugly thing. All of the cremains hidden in his closet. Rather than pity, and instantaneous forgiveness like all of his friends before, there was something hard and calculating in Essek’s expression. Essek struggled to hoist his legs back over the edge of his cot so that he was facing Caleb properly.

“And you believe that because you have done these things for your country that I would find you… reprehensible?” Pity for Caleb was almost as irritating as pity for himself. He couldn't fathom what Caleb was trying to prove.

Caleb’s brows drew tight in confusion. “I _am_ reprehensible.”

Essek barked out a sharp, unforgiving laugh. “Caleb. I have seen how your friends look at you. It is not with reproach. And I see how those same people look at me. If you are worthy of damnation, what does that say about me?”

“What did you say?”

“Uh. Which part?”

“The-- Nevermind. Just. I need you to understand how serious this is. I am not a good person to get involved with.” 

“Maybe I don’t want a good person.”

“But you can’t know that!” Caleb’s voice cracked and he winced, rubbing his face. “You cannot know what you want because you don’t even know who you are!”

There were many things that Essek felt he was at fault for. But this. No. Whatever ridiculous moral code was causing Caleb to flounder, Essek did not possess. He wanted. It was that simple. He could not fathom any truth, any revelation which would dim the longing that ached in his chest. “I can’t? Or you can’t? I know what _I_ want, Caleb. If you don’t, fine, but don’t use me as your scapegoat.”

“It’s more complicated than that!” 

“Then _un_ complicate it. Did you like the kiss?”

“Yes!”

“Do you want to do it again?”

Caleb’s face contorted through a rapid evolution of emotions, starting somewhere around desperate yearning and settling into resignation. He snagged up Frumpkin and held him tight to his chest. “Yes…”

Essek threw his hands up, wincing and adjusting them lower when the electric shock from his shoulder shot down his arm. “Then what’s the problem!” 

“The problem is I do this now, and you get your memories back and decide that you don’t actually want... me, or, or, you need time to process, or-. Once the cat is out of the bag I cannot put it back. And what do I do then? We are bound, you and I. I cannot disentangle myself from you, even if I wanted to. And if you… If we. I need to look out for _me_ , Essek. That is how people like us survive. We do not get too attached.”

Essek fixed him with a cold glare, “Funny. And here I was under the impression that your attachment was the only reason I’m still alive.”

Caleb leaned forward and their knees brushed together. He cupped Essek’s jaw in his hand, running his thumb over Essek’s cheek in a mirror of the gesture Essek had made. “I’m sorry,” He said, barely above a whisper. “I’m not ready yet.”

Neither the wool of the tent, nor the linen of the pillow smashed against his face did much to muffle Essek’s snarl of frustration as Caleb slunk out of the tent with his head hung low.

Veth appeared a few moments later and pushed her cot up against Essek’s. She patted him once on the leg and curled up to sleep. He was grateful she didn’t speak. He wasn’t sure he would have been able to find any words that could push through the choking tightness in his throat.

\---

Later in the night, when Essek had long since given up on trancing and the moon was high overhead, Frumpkin crawled into bed with him. Essek’s first, bitter instinct was to shove the creature away, to dump him on the floor. But when he pushed his fingers into soft ginger fur and felt the droning purr warm against his skin, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Frumpkin curled up against Essek’s chest, and he clung to the cat like a lifeline.

\---

The next morning Essek was completely unable to walk, breathless from the searing pain in his legs. Yasha quietly helped him up into the saddle and ponied his horse to hers. There was no complaining the second day.

\---

The Nein arrived at the dig site at precisely 2:49 in the afternoon, according to Caleb. There were crumbling stone walls, ordered in what might once have been a structure. It looked too modern. Perhaps two hundred years old at most, and more like a farmstead than some archaic temple. But no one was willing to state the obvious. 

They activated the gravimeter three more times to triangulate the beacon’s location, and spent the better part of the afternoon digging holes. Essek hid under his hat, Frumkin curled in his lap, and kept an eye on the horses. Or at least pretended to. Eventually Fjord cried out that he’d found something.

It looked like a treasure chest, wedged some six feet down under what once might have been a fireplace. It was just large enough that Veth might have crawled inside if she were so inclined. Yasha and Jester carried it over to Essek so that he could watch while Caleb set about dispelling the protective wards, and then as Veth picked the elaborate locking mechanism. 

When they opened it, it was not a beacon. No one could tell precisely what it was, other than some kind of clockwork orrery that reeked of dunamancy. They put it back in its box, and confirmed with another sweep of the gravimeter that it was, indeed, what had inspired their search. 

\---

The ride home was long and smothering under a heavy blanket of disappointment. Caleb looked anywhere but at Essek. 

\---

It took a week before Essek’s body recovered from the grueling ride, and a few days more of disappointment coalescing into a cold, leaden weight in his stomach before his loathing spurred him to sneak out of his quarters under the dark of night. Yasha stirred as he passed her by.

“Yasha,” He said softly, lingering at the foot of her cot. “I’m sorry to wake you. I’m feeling a little nauseous, I just need to get some air. I’ll be back in a bit.” 

Except he wasn’t. The hour stretched long, and Essek did not return. Worried that he’d slipped away, or worse, Yasha padded out onto the deck in search of him.

She did not have to look far. Essek was perched on the rail with his legs hanging freely over the ocean, staring down into the black depths. Yasha made her way over to him and asked if he was alright. He did not respond, and she rapped her knuckles on the wood of the rail. “Essek? Are you with me?”

He said nothing, staring down into the dark void with an unfocused gaze.

Yasha leaned up against the rail, close enough that she could grab him if she reached out, but not so close that she might startle him. “You know, you kind of remind me of someone.”

She quieted, waiting for some sign of awareness. Unacknowledged, she continued, “I had a good friend. His name was Mollymauk. Ah… He was one of the most amazing people I have ever known. He was always so giving, and so kind. He was also kind of an asshole, but. I think we are all kind of assholes.” She petered off, looking out over the horizon. 

“Before I met him, he was in a bad place. He had been abandoned, and lost his memory. And for a while he struggled with it quite a bit. But eventually he realized that he could be whatever he wanted to be. No one could tell him who, or what he was supposed to be. And that was that. He was beautiful, and a little ridiculous and perfectly _Molly_. That darkness was still there, but. He just kind of forced himself to keep living anyway.”

Essek didn’t turn to her, and there was a strange, disjointed quality to his voice when he finally spoke. “What happened to him?”

Yasha looked down at her hands, flexing them, steeling herself. “He died. Saving me and my friends.”

They slid back into silence for a long while, and Yasha wondered if she had lost him once more. 

“I should be dead” His throat closed around the words, voice soft and trembling. 

“I don’t think that’s true.”

Essek laughed, though there was no humor in it. “That is kind of you to say.”

“May I touch you?”

He nodded wearily, not looking at her. She wrapped an arm around his back, and the other under his legs, gently easing him off of the railing and back to the safety of the deck. He came along without protest, slumping listlessly against her. When both feet were planted on the ground he turned and buried his face against her chest. Keeping her grip loose she rubbed slow circles on his back and murmured comforting nonsense into his ear. The whisper of the wind and the soft lapping of waves on the hull flowed around them as the only signs of time passing. Essek eventually sighed and pulled out of her grip, wiping his eyes. 

“Would you like to listen to some music?” Yasha asked, and he peered up at her in confusion. “Let me go get something… Or, on second thought, why don’t you come with me?” 

Essek shook his head, “I’ll be fine.”

“Please?” She asked, gesturing for him to follow her. Away from the water. He had no good reason to refuse, and no energy to argue. 

She led him down to the Nein’s shared quarters. Caleb stirred when his alarm was set off, and he squinted into the murky darkness. Yasha bent down to him and whispered in his ear before drifting away to her own collection of belongings, from which she produced the strangest harp Essek had ever seen.

They snuck out as quietly as they arrived, Yasha gently helping him back up the ladder with one hand and cradling her harp in the other. She led Essek back to his cabin, and waited for him to settle into his bed before she folded her legs underneath herself on her own cot. And began to play.

Her music felt like a lullaby, if Essek were to describe it. Like something he heard once, long ago, and had since forgotten. A haunting, lilting little melody that sent a chill down his spine and gooseflesh down his arms. It was not a happy song. It was yearning and lovely, but not happy. Which was just as well. He didn’t have the stomach to feel someone else’s happiness in that moment. 

When she finished, Yasha held the harp out to him. “Would you like to play? I could teach you.”

“I fear I wouldn’t do it justice.” Essek said. Yasha pushed the harp onto the bed next to him anyway. 

“The harp can’t tell the difference. I was not so good either, when I started. But I kept doing it anyway, because it makes me happy.”

He, too, was ‘not so good’, despite his best efforts, and more than anything he wanted to chalk it up to being another in a rapidly accumulating line of failures. But Yasha smiled her sad smile and asked him to try again.

He promised not to give up. As long as she was willing to help. 

\---

By the time Essek dared peek in on the workshop, haggard and sleep deprived, Caleb and Veth had almost completed their second prototype. It was designed to cast a wider net, to be more sensitive to lower levels of gravitational fields. Essek tucked himself quietly in the corner, watching with a hollow gaze as the modified gravimeter was activated.

It picked up on nothing beyond the strange orrery. There were no celebrations this time. No jubilant embraces. And no impulsive (stupid) kisses. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all again for taking the time to comment and leave kudos! It was brought up in the last chapter's comments, constructive criticism is also very much appreciated! This is my first time trying anything like this, and I don't really have anyone to bounce ideas off of. So I only have my impression of whether something is working or not. If you feel like it's not, let me know! As always unbetaed. 
> 
> No new CWs this chapter
> 
> I apologize(?) this chapter is almost entirely Caleb. 
> 
> There are two "homemade" German words in this chapter, Himmelskraft and Potentialitätsapparat. They were constructed with the feedback of a gentleman who has a Masters in German, but hasn't really used it in 20+ years. So if any native speakers have feedback, please let me know lol. Himmelskraft translates to celestial power, and Potentialitätsapparat translates to potentiality apparatus.

Caleb told no one that he was leaving. Nor that he was arriving. He secreted himself away in the ship’s hold, guided only by a single dim globule of light and an ever vigilant Frumpkin trailing behind. The methodical scrape of chalk and his shallow breathing were all that broke through the silence as he drew his circle with a silent, practiced efficiency. The runes flared to life, casting long eerie shadows through the hold and across his face in the seconds before he arrived in Yussa’s tower. He lingered in the circle room for a few tense moments, ears straining in the dim light before he could finally pick up on the frantic, scampering footfalls of a goblin rushing through the hall.

Wensforth skidded to a halt in the doorway, slumping by visible inches when he saw Caleb. “Mister Widogast!” He paused to catch his breath, panting and clutching a hand to his chest. He was still wearing his suit, but the necktie was loosened and the first button undone, his sleeves rolled up to mid arm. “What are you doing here so late?”

Out of habit, Caleb glanced behind him, half expecting someone to have followed him through the circle. Reassured that he was well and truly alone, he bowed his head in apology. “I’m sorry Wensforth. I need to speak with your master. It is a sensitive matter.”

Wensforth laughed, squirming and wringing his hands like he had some terrible news that he was trying desperately to avoid. “Mister Widogast. It is very late. My master is indisposed.”

“I apologize for the intrusion, truly. But I must speak with him.”

With a put upon sigh, Wensforth waved for Caleb to follow him to the sitting room. He set a cup and saucer down on one of the side tables with enough force that they clattered against one another. Gesturing for Caleb to sit, he filled the cup with something pungently herbal and shuffled away up the stairs.

Ten minutes passed. Then twenty. Caleb fought to shove down the ever growing worry that he might have been forgotten about, or was simply expected to wait until morning as penance for his untimely arrival when the soft padding of bare feet on stone tore him from his thoughts. 

Yussa descended, wearing a housecoat that must have cost more than the entirety of the Zemni Fields, gold thread glinting in the firelight, the design shifting and nebulous and hypnotising. He wore neither makeup nor jewelry, and his hair was damp, curled at his temples and stuck limp to his forehead. Droplets of water dampened the shoulders of his robe.

There was absolutely no reason a wizard of such power should be caught so unprepared, especially with so long between Wensforth’s departure and Yussa’s arrival. Caleb could only assume that his disheveled appearance was intentionally curated. It had the desired effect. He felt a twinge of guilt for calling at so late an hour. But only a twinge. He hid it behind his tea cup.

Yussa drifted into the room but did not immediately speak, raking his glowing gaze over Caleb’s features as if he might divine some meaning for his arrival from them. Wensforth reappeared with another tea setting, and only when it was filled did Yussa fold himself into a chair not quite across from Caleb. “Mister Widogast. Is the war back on?”

“Ah, no? Not that I know of, anyway.” 

“Does Nicodranas burn?”

“No more so than usual.” Caleb could see where this was going, and braced himself for the inevitable telling off, hoping that the slight was not so great that he would not at least be allowed to present his case.

“Is an archlich ascending to godhood?”

“Ah, no. I-”

“Then what, pray tell, is so urgent that it could not wait for the morning?”

Caleb shifted in his seat, suddenly wishing he was holding Frumpkin. His unyielding tea cup was a poor substitute. “It is not urgent so much as… clandestine.”

Yussa settled more deeply into his chair, crossing one leg delicately over the other. The picture of poise. He raised an eyebrow, waiting for Caleb to continue.

“I did not wish my compatriots to know that I am here. Nor the nature of my visit.” One compatriot in particular. But any of them might prove unhelpful in what could only be a fragile negotiation process. 

“And what _is_ the nature of your visit?” Yussa asked, stirring his tea with a lazy gesture of his finger. 

“I need to ask a favor of you. I assume since we have heard nothing, that your inquiries into the condition I described during my last visit have not proved fruitful.”

Yussa nodded and took a long, judgmental sip of tea (Caleb had seen his fair share of judgmental partaking of beverages, and Yussa’s technique was admirable, if disconcerting) before placing the cup back onto its saucer. “You assume correctly.”

No time like the present. Caleb cleared his throat and placed his own tea back onto the side table, immediately missing its warmth in his hands. “I believe I know of a cure. But I need to speak to Halas.”

Yussa’s expression crystalized into something unreadable and hard. He folded his hands in his lap. “Halas was an incredibly powerful man, but his expertise did not lie in the restorative magics.”

“Yes, yes I know. But I think he may know the whereabouts of a powerful artifact that could help us.”

“What sort of device?”

“Ah… do you recall the dodecahedron we showed you?”

Yussa’s expression did not change from that stony, unreadable shield, but he was less guarded with the chagrin in his voice. “The one you never did let me study properly, yes. I recall.”

Caleb felt his ears go hot with embarrassment. “We need to find another one like it.”

Yussa narrowed his eyes, accusing and critical. “I see. The one that you already have is not sufficient?” 

How much did Yussa know? Caleb found himself rapidly retracing their conversations, trying to remember what they had shared, and what they hadn’t. Whether Yussa was obfuscating stupidity, or was genuinely in the dark as to the fate of the beacon. “It was returned to where it belonged,” he said, opting for as much diplomacy as possible while still being vague enough that it did not invite more inquiry. 

“I see. And why do you think Halas would know the location of such a device?”

“Truly? Hope. That perhaps more of them were once known and have since been lost to the ages.”

Yussa nodded in understanding, “And you hope that he might serve as a time capsule.”

“I do, ja.” 

“And what is this favor worth to you?”

Caleb had considered this. Considered what he had that Yussa might possibly want. What Yussa might possibly want that Caleb was willing to give. The list was disappointingly short. “I cannot in good conscience say _anything_. But it is a near thing.”

Something cold and calculating in Yussa’s gaze shifted and left Caleb feeling pinned to his chair. “That is a dangerous offer, Mister Widogast. One might assume you were _desperate_.”

Caleb swallowed, gaze skittering off to the table to his right, and the cold tea sitting there forgotten. He grabbed for the cup, and distracted himself with reheating the dregs and the fine porcelain. Poor substitute for Frumpkin that it was, it was better than empty hands. “You have proven yourself to be a fair and shrewd businessman in the past,” he said, the words coming out stilted and rehearsed. “I trust that you understand my usefulness is better cultivated over the long-term than burned out in the negotiation of a single unreasonable exchange.”

The corner of Yussa’s mouth curled upwards in the barest ghost of a smile. “What will you do with the dodecahedron once it has served its purpose?”

Caleb hadn’t really thought about it. For so long his goals had been singular, solve the problem. Fix what’s wrong. Action. There was an abstract anticipation of the wonders that Essek might unlock with the device. But there was also a niggling worry that always lingered at the corner of that excitement that perhaps it would be unjust to give Essek such a gift, when his foolhardy pursuit of the beacons had proved so disastrous for so many. But he could change the world with a beacon. Of that Caleb was certain. “The man who’s affliction I seek to cure, it will most likely stay with him. He was studying them, before he was injured.” It was close enough to the truth without being ugly.

“Give it to me instead.”

“Come again?”

“The dodecahedron,” Yussa said, leaning forward in his chair. “Once you have returned your patient to his hale self, give it to me. If he is as powerful as you say, perhaps he would be interested in coming here to collaborate.”

“Oh, I don’t know…” The very thought of Essek hunched over a beacon in Yussa’s lab, collaborating with Yussa, discovering with Yussa, turned Caleb’s stomach. If anyone were to share in that hypothetical future it should be _Caleb_. He must have made a face, because Yussa cleared his throat and shot him a pointed look. “That is a very large gift for just one conversation.”

“Two conversations,” Yussa corrected, holding up a finger. “One of which dragged me from my bath to host, which somewhat colors my opinion of the negotiations.” 

Right. “Could we... Come to some kind of arrangement for shared custody?” 

Yussa scoffed and plucked at some invisible blemish on his robe. “With the sort of lifestyles you and your ilk lead, I would be hesitant to extend that sort of liberty for such a valuable artifact.”

“Then I don’t know that I can commit to that. These artifacts are very important to him.” Even if Essek ultimately wasn’t given free reign over the beacon, if it gave Caleb grounds to negotiate from, he was going to use it. 

“Well then, what do you offer in substitute?”

Caleb reluctantly went down his mental list. Things of least to most valuable, gauging how much to push his luck before he was dismissed outright. “Some new spells perhaps?”

Yussa’s unflinching smile shifted into something that toed the edge of condescending without straying so far as to breach propriety. “What spells could you offer me which I do not already possess?”

“A few of my own creations. One of which was adapted from Halas’s works, with the help of the man I am now trying to save.” Caleb described them. His Web, his Vault, his Tower. Transmogrification. 

Yussa unfolded himself, swapping which leg was folded under the other, and plucked up his tea cup. It had been at least half empty when he put it down, but was full again, Caleb noticed. “While I am intrigued and delighted by your ingenuity, truly, new information in an old school is not of the same calibre as a completely novel magical lineage, I’m afraid.”

Caleb knew, logically, that made sense. But the blow to his pride still smarted. “What if I could teach you spells that were derived from the dodecahedron’s power?”

Yussa leaned forward, fingers steepled under his chin and something bright and hungry shifting in his luminous gaze. “ _Can_ you?”

“A few. Though they are not as powerful as the ones I mentioned before.”

“Define a few.”

Caleb sighed. “Four. Four spells.” 

“And does your friend know more?” Yussa pressed, suddenly far more interested than Caleb was comfortable with. 

“He did.”

“How about this: you share what you know, now. And when your friend is restored to himself, you make a point of introducing us. I would be delighted to pick his brain.”

Which would mean that Essek would find out that Caleb had shared his spells. Would he hate him for it? Yussa was not of the Assembly, but his allegiances were nebulous at best. Would Essek hate him more if he gave up the beacon instead? ...Probably. He could neglect to tell Essek of the invitation, he supposed. And hope that the two of them never met, at least not in his lifetime. He didn’t see a better option. “I cannot promise that he will come. He’s ah, not a very team player.”

Yussa smiled again. “The best rarely are. But I trust you can be suitably convincing. Do we have an agreement?” He held out his hand. His hair was dry, Caleb realized.

“Fine. Yes, you have an agreement.” He shook Yussa’s outstretched hand.

Once his hand was freed, Yussa pushed himself to his feet and clapped his hands together in expectation. “Very well. I must insist that certain protective measures be taken. We do not fully understand the nature of Halas’s imprisonment, and I would prefer not to have to deal with an exorcism this late at night.”

“Yes, of course.”

Yussa took Caleb to an empty room which he didn’t recall having seen before, and called for Wensforth to bring in a chair and a leaden box. He ushered Caleb to the side and began casting a magic circle. Caleb was not asked to participate, and so he didn’t, watching from the sidelines and waiting for somebody to address him. Wensforth burst in, struggling with a chair in one arm and a large box in the other. By then Yussa had completed his circle, and gestured for the chair to be set upon it. 

“If you would please sit, Caleb. I’ll give you the Ruby in this box, and then erect a force cage around you. Assuming your conversation goes well, I will dispel the cage once you have placed the Ruby back in its box, and then will put it safely back into its pocket dimension. You have one hour with Halas. If the conversation needs to continue beyond that, you will put the Ruby back into the box while I recast my wards. I will only tell you to do this once, if you do not heed my instructions you will be incapacitated until I can ensure that you have not been compromised. Do you understand?” 

Caleb nodded, sitting stiffly in the chair. “Yes, I understand.”

Yussa took the box from Wensforth and cut through the veil with his hand, the Ruby floating out from its pocket dimension. He closed his fist and the Ruby fell into the box, which he then snapped closed. He held the box out to Caleb, who took it gingerly. 

The force cage thrummed into existence, and Yussa gave Caleb a curt nod to proceed. 

The Ruby was warm when Caleb plucked it from the box, and felt heavier than he thought it should. No sooner had he touched it when he felt a probing pressure inside his head. Red filled his vision, and a dark face coalesced in his mind out of the sanguine fog, wreathed in gold and finery.

“Greetings, Herr Lutagran.”

_To what do I owe the pleasure of the company of such a polite young man?_

“I come seeking your aid.”

_My aid is well sought, but not free._

Caleb glanced away from the Ruby to Yussa and Wensforth, both of whom were watching him like hawks. “Nor would I expect it to be. I shall explain my desire, and you can tell me what you would find sufficient payment?”

He could feel the pressure in his mind growing, probing. He pushed on it, locking it out of the dark corners he didn’t want it to see.

_Very well. What is it you seek, young man?_

“There is a rare school of magic which harnesses the power of something called dunamis. The school focuses on the manipulation of time, gravity, and fate. Are you familiar with it?”

There was a pause, as if the consciousness was surprised. Or considering what best to say.

_You speak of Himmelskraft._

“You know of this magic?”

_Of course I do._

Caleb couldn’t help but shift in his chair, the sudden, unexpected excitement of a hypothesis being proven out leaving him restless and eager. “There are devices that act as foci for this, ah, Himmelskraft. Twelve sided caskets, which glow with a grey light. Large enough to be held in two hands.”

_You seek a Potentialitätsapparat? You are a clever lad indeed, aren’t you. For what purpose?_

It was Caleb’s turn to hesitate. He doubted withholding his reasons would do anything to motivate Halas, but he had absolutely no interest in sharing anything remotely personal with this man. “I seek to undo what fate has done.”

_Oh, such power is seductive indeed. You harness it once, and then desire its sweet embrace once more. Again and again, it is so easy to slip into the security of unlimited power. To know that you can do no wrong, for any wrongs you enact are but motes of dust on a sunbeam, ephemeral and changing. What do you do, then, when you are so unmoored that you cannot remember that which pushed you over the precipice in the first place?_

“I do not seek this power for myself,” Caleb said, wincing at how forceful it came out. 

_How charitable. And yet, would you be able to deny the possibility if it were presented to you on a platter?_

“You ask if I would become like you.”

_No, I ask what vainglory stirs in your soul that the Potentialitätsapparat might exploit._

“I have not come to you to speak of philosophy. Do you know where I might find such a device?”

There was a press of _amusement_ against Caleb’s skull. An infantilizing, simmering amusement that scoffed at his impatience and his single mindedness. 

_I do._

“And what would you demand as payment for this knowledge?”

There was no hesitation.

_My freedom._

Equal parts simple and impossible, Caleb had to suppress a sigh. “That is not within my power to grant.”

_It will be, if you harness the Potentialitätsapparat._

The revelation was followed up with a deafening silence.

_Now, perhaps, you see why I ask how much you are willing to give to alter fate._

“I can do nothing without the device in hand. Where do I find it?

Halas laughed, the sound like rock grinding over rock in Caleb’s mind. 

_Swear upon our bargain fate-thief, and I shall tell you._

“Yes, fine. I swear to you, Halas Lutagran, Archmage of Zeidel, that I, Markus Neumann of Trostenwald, shall free you from your bonds at such time as I harness the power of the Potentialitätsapparat.” The lie slid off of his tongue like oil. He ignored the piercing question in Yussa’s stare. 

_So shall it be. You are familiar with me, are you familiar with my home?_

“The Folding Halls?”

_If that is what you call them._

“What of them?”

 _The time altering effects of my_ Folding Halls _are powered by a Potentialitätsapparat._

“How do I find it?” Caleb pressed, growing impatient with the constant plucking for scraps of information. 

_How indeed. You shall have to traverse my halls until you find the Control Room. Therein you shall have to disassemble a large housing unit. Once you have removed the Potentialitätsapparat from its housing, the exit to that room will be depowered. You shall be trapped in a pocket dimension in the astral sea, with no power, no resources, limited air, and you will have to find your own escape for there will be none in place for you._

“How do I find the Control Room?”

_There are numerous ways. None of them safe._

“Tell me how to get there.” Caleb wasn’t entirely sure how much of his own frustration was pressing on Halas’s psyche, or if he could see how white knuckled his grip on the Ruby was.

_What is this information worth to you, who have already vowed my freedom?_

“You will not taste freedom if I do not safely retrieve the device.”

The mocking, sanctimonious pressure was back in his head.

_Ah. But all I must do is wait and eventually freedom shall find me. I imagine your concerns are far more pressing than my own if you seek the power of Himmelskraft._

Caleb glanced over at Yussa, who was still watching him with a guarded expression. “My body,” he said, looking back at the Ruby. “Yours was destroyed, you will need a new one when you are free. I will not fight you for it.” 

Yussa lifted his hands in the beginning motions of a dispel. Caleb shoved his hand in Yussa’s direction, shaking his head sharply. He held up a finger for Yussa to wait when he was sure the dispel wasn’t imminent. 

_Very well. When you return, your body is forfeit. I shall tell you how to find my Potentialitätsapparat, but you must take me with you. I would see that my interests are being represented._

“Thank you Herr Lutagran. I shall reach out again when we are ready to depart.”

A soft, insidious warmth curled in Caleb’s mind and he had to suppress a shiver of disgust. 

_You could take me with you. I would not mind the company._

Rather than respond, Caleb dumped the Ruby back into the leadened box with little ceremony, and slapped the lid back on. Yussa watched on, expression unreadable. When the Ruby was secured, he dispelled the force cage. 

“This stays between us, ja?”

Yussa held out his hands, waiting for the box. “So long as you do not do anything foolish, Mister Widogast.”

\---

Caleb teleported back to Port Damali exhausted but hopeful. The sun was still below the horizon, and he didn’t think he had been missed. Jester was gone, hopefully still in Essek’s cabin with him. Beau and Fjord had yet to rouse for their morning routine. Caduceus flickered an ear when Caleb slunk past him, but if he stirred, he did a good job of hiding it.

He resigned himself to a miserable, sleep deprived day. He had not prepared spells, and had not had nearly enough sleep. It was only a few moments after he had settled back into his bunk, Frumpkin snuggled next to him, that he heard the first groans of consciousness coming from Beau. He sighed. 

\---

Caleb wasn’t spying on Essek. He was just… trying to figure out his schedule. Essek was deep in conversation with Orly, with no immediate appearance of leaving. Something to do with the shipping ledger. It didn’t matter, all that mattered was that Essek was occupied. His hair was long enough that it fluttered feather light in the harbor breeze. There was a cowlick at the back of his head which once had been tamed by product and magic, but now a tuft of white hair was sticking straight up, making Caleb’s heart clench with fondness that he struggled to shove back into its box. 

Satisfied that Essek was going nowhere in a hurry, Caleb hastily set about wrangling the rest of the Nein in the wardroom. As they began filing in, they wasted no time in bickering and pondering what in the world Caleb might want from them. It took nothing less than Beau slamming her bo against the heavy wooden table to quash the ambient muttering. 

“Are we hiding from Essek?” Jester asked, the first voice to cut through the din. 

Beau pulled out a chair, making no effort to quieten the loud drag of its legs against the heavy wood panels of the deck. She flipped it around, and sat in it backwards, her legs astride. “We’re not hiding. He’s just not here.”

Caleb held up a hand to quell any more conjecture, and waited for the rest of the group to sit before continuing. “You’re here because I wanted to talk to you first. I went to Nicodranas last night.”

Another burst of voices speaking all over one another. Most of what Caleb could catch existed in the nebulous realm of ‘without us’?

“I needed to speak with Yussa. Privately. It was easiest to just go alone. I think I know where a beacon is.” 

“Yussa has a fucking beacon?” Beau blurted, “Why didn’t your gravimeter pick it up?”

“Because it’s not Yussa that has one, it’s Halas.”

Caleb had expected another explosion of voices. Instead he was met with silence. As the silence dragged closer and closer to awkward territory, Fjord lifted a hand as if asking permission to speak. “Why do you think Halas has a beacon?”

Caleb cleared his throat, scratching the back of his neck. “He told me he did.”

“You _talked_ to him?” Beau asked, incredulous. 

Fjord leaned on the table, propping his chin on his hand. “Even if Halas had one, it’s probably lost by now. He’s been imprisoned for centuries.” 

“It’s not on Exandria,” Caleb said, “It’s in the Folding Halls.”

“Oh, great. That’s great.” Beau pushed herself from her chair and began pacing. 

“Caleb? Why do you even think he’s telling the truth?” Jester asked, frowning. 

“Because he needs us. If he wants to get free, he needs someone willing to offer it to him. It would solve nothing to lie to me.”

“You know, Caleb. You’re normally a pretty smart guy.” Beau paused in her pacing to point at him. “But that is a shitty ass idea.”

Caleb sighed, “We aren’t actually going to free him, and what else can we do? This isn’t sustainable. We cannot continue to blindly stumble around in hopes of results. Essek needs this.”

“You think that going back in there and risking our lives again is the better option?” Fjord said. 

Caleb scowled. Claustrophobic under the interrogation, he too rose to his feet. “There is every likelihood that the retrieval of any other beacon would be similarly harrowing. It was foolish of us to think we could simply waltz into the wilderness and dig a hole to solve our problems.”

“Is he worth it?” Beau asked, appearing at his shoulder. Caleb turned to face her, crossing his arms over his chest.

“ _Excuse me?_ ” 

“Is Essek really worth all this? We’ve already risked a lot on him. He’s shown that even without his memories, or his powers, he’s still only looking out for himself. He’s just as likely to teleport into the aether as soon as he gets his paws on a beacon as he is to stick around. And even if he doesn’t, he’s not-”

“Beauregard?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

“You know, she has a point Caleb,” Fjord cut in, interrupting their scowling match before it turned to actual blows. “You’ve been helming this from the beginning, but we’re going into our fourth month with him here. How long are we going to let Essek consume all our time and resources?”

Caleb threw his hands in the air, pushing past Beau to circle the table. “Well then we should get this beacon and be done with it! I am giving you a finish line. We get this thing, and we’ll be done and can move forward and everything will be good.”

“What, uh. What do we know about this beacon?” Caduceus asked, tapping Caleb’s elbow to get his attention. 

So Caleb told them what he knew. What Halas had told him. He told them it generated the time dilation effect on the halls. That it was only accessible from within. That Halas was unwilling to give him more information than that ahead of time, and would only assist if he was taken along.

“You’re taking him with you?” Beau said. 

“That was part of the agreement, ja.” 

“You remember how I said you’re normally a smart guy?”

Caleb groaned in exasperation. “Do you have a better idea Beau?” 

She was silent for a few long moments, brows furrowed in consideration. “No,” she said, shaking her head with a drawn out sigh. 

He spun around with outstretched arms, catching everyone’s eye in turn. “Anyone else have a better idea?”

A murmur in the negative from the group. 

“What about Essek?” Jester asked, “What is he going to do?”

“Be patient?” Beau said, ignoring that the question was directed at Caleb. “He’s a big boy. He can entertain himself for awhile.”

“I think that could be dangerous.” Yasha said, “He’s hurting. He needs support right now.” She dragged her gaze upwards to meet Beau’s. “I’m worried that being left alone could be damaging. In the long run.” 

“If we do this, we can’t afford to leave anyone behind with him. We need to get in and out as quickly as possible,” said Fjord. 

Heads were nodded, a few yesses were murmured. They agreed to reconvene in the evening to talk about next steps, to make an inventory of what they needed to stock up on before leaving. How quickly they wanted to move. Caleb opened the hatch so that they might go their separate ways, and nearly walked right into Essek, who was lounging against the bulwark, eyes narrowed at the door in wait. 

“Have a good meeting?”

“Essek!” Caleb said, voice cracking. “What are you doing here?”

Essek pushed himself off of the bulwark, sidestepping Caleb so that he could peer into the room and take stock of all the faces staunchly refusing to meet his gaze. All but Beau, who glared right back. “Marius was kind enough to inform me that I was late to a group meeting. I don’t think he realized the exclusion was intentional.” 

“You’re not automatically privy to every conversation we have, you know,” Beau said.

“Of course. And I suppose you were just going to secret away in the middle of the night and solve all my problems for me?” 

“Can’t you just be _grateful_ ? For _once_?”

“Grateful that you would deny me my one shred of autonomy and not even have the decency to tell me?”

“We were _going_ to tell you.” Caleb said, stepping between Essek and Beau. He reached for Essek out of habit. To comfort, to still. Essek twisted out of his reach with a scowl. Caleb’s hand fell limply back to his side. “We just needed to talk about it first.”

“Do I get a say in this?”

“We’ve already decided, Essek,” Fjord said, stepping up next to Caleb in a show of solidarity. “This is what’s best for the group.”

Essek ground his teeth, gaze restless and wary, not falling on any one of them for too long. 

“Essek, I know you’ve been dealt a bad hand here, but you don’t get to make unilateral decisions anymore. There are more people to consider.” Fjord continued when Essek remained silent. 

“But it’s MY life!” 

“Yes. And ours. We don’t _need_ to be helping you Essek.” Had the words come from Beau, they would have been a threat. But coming from Fjord they were just. Truth. “We are under no obligation to drop everything in our lives and search for months for something to fix you. But we _are_.” 

“Fine,” Essek said, sneering up at Fjord. “If I am so terrible a burden, then don’t bother. I’ll leave.”

“Essek.” Jester said, peeking around from behind where Caleb and Fjord had effectively plugged the hatchway with their combined bulk. “We’re helping you because you’re our friend, and that’s what friends do. But there needs to be some give and take, you know? I know you’re used to being super important and the boss and stuff, but. We’re all equal here. We have to take care of everybody.”

Some of the vitriol melted away, and Essek’s shoulders slumped in defeat. He looked back up at Caleb, pleading for leniency. “Can’t we at least put this to a vote?”

“Essek, we already decided.” Caleb said with a sigh. 

“I didn’t!”

Caduceus’s hand shot up from the very back of the mess of bodies, though Yasha was the only one who noticed. “I think a vote sounds like a good idea.”

“Yeah, it’s only fair. It’ll only take a second,” Jester said, the very top of her head nodding just visible over Caleb’s shoulder. 

Yasha voted with Essek to wait and try something else. Everyone else voted for the sphere. Each vote in support of the Folding Halls saw Essek going more and more still, and more and more silent. His gaze lost its focus somewhere to the left of Fjord’s feet. When Beau clapped her hands, pleased with the final vote and the affirmed plan, he flinched and abruptly turned to leave. “I can’t do this,” he said, nearly tripping over himself in his haste to shove himself into the next nearest cabin and slam the hatch closed behind him.

Without thinking, Caleb made to follow him. He was stopped by a heavy hand on his shoulder and Yasha’s sad, knowing smile. “Let me,” she said, which sounded an awful lot like it meant ‘I told you so’ to anyone who bothered to listen. 

Caleb shuffled out of her way and Yasha followed Essek to the closed hatch and rapped gently on the wood separating them. She ignored the gaggle of curious eyes boring into her side. “Essek?” She murmured against the hatch, “I’m coming in, okay?” 

She heard no response, so she pushed inside, closing the hatch behind her. The cabin was unlit, and it took a few moments of staring into the murky shadows for her eyes to adjust. There were cabinets stuffed with books lining one wall, a desk with a lamp and some papers stacked on it in a corner, and a pile of crates dumped in the middle of the room that no one had ever bothered to unpack. Essek had wedged himself underneath the desk and had his head buried between his knees, blanched fingers twisted in his hair. She could hear his frantic breathing before she could see him. “Essek? I think we will both feel a little better with some light in here, what do you say?”

What he said was nothing. But that was also not a forbiddance, and that was good enough for Yasha. She lit the lantern and set it down on the floor next to the desk so that it illuminated Essek’s cave save for the odd corner where his body cast deep shadows. She crouched down next to the lantern and extended her hand in offering. “Can you squeeze my hand?” 

He didn’t at first, hands stubbornly clenched in his hair. But after a moment he snatched at her hand like it might escape him. There was no squeeze, not exactly. His hand trembled and spasmed in restless, fitful bursts, but Yasha smiled anyway. 

“Good. Thank you. Can you squeeze it five times?” 

He did, more or less. Trembling and twitching. 

“Can you look at me?”

He shook his head no, his free limbs all clutching more tightly around his head in a protective barrier as he shied deeper into his impromptu cave. 

“Okay. Okay. That’s okay,” Yasha soothed, gently squeezing his hand. “Can I touch you?” 

Essek’s shoulders slumped a fraction of an inch, and he nodded once, a small tight gesture that Yasha might have missed if she’d not been looking for it. She scooted nearer to him. They would never both fit underneath the desk, so rather than try, she folded her legs over his, wedging herself perpendicular to him and rested her head against the front of the desk. “Being alone can be scary,” she said quietly. Her tone was distant, not quite addressing anyone in particular. “But these are good people. They’ll never give up on you. They’ll always come back for you.”

A noise escaped Essek’s hunched form that sounded like it might have been a choked off sob. Whatever it had been was quickly drowned out by Essek’s frantic, uneven breaths. Yasha took hold of his other hand when she suspected his pulling was threatening to uproot clumps of hair. She gently eased it away from his head, his entire body slumping after it. “I can’t do this,” he said, voice wrecked. 

Yasha angled Essek so that his head rested comfortably in her lap. She coaxed him to relax with fingers carded through his fine hair, and softly hummed melodies meant for the night and for sad bone harps. They said nothing for a very long while. Seas of stillness interrupted by the occasional storm of desperate, broken energy wracking Essek’s body with tremors and choking, desperate gasps. “I can’t do this,” Essek repeated softly. 

“It’s going to be okay,” Yasha said, confident in her promise. “I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but it will be. You’re going to be okay.”

\---

Repairs on the Heroes were ongoing, so the Nein chartered a vessel to shuttle them to Nicodranas. It was a small thing, built for speed and efficiency. They made good time, Caduceus and Fjord chatting amiably with the captain, Yasha and Beau warily watching the water for signs of trouble, Veth and Jester playing cards, Caleb and Essek doing everything in their collective power to ignore one another in a space that was far too small to hide in. 

Wensforth ushered everyone inside with little preamble. Yussa was already waiting for them in one of his empty work rooms. A table was erected next to him, looking out of place in the otherwise barren space. It held three boxes upon it. 

“I do not think I have had the pleasure of meeting your friend,” Yussa said, placing heavy emphasis on the word _friend_ as he skimmed over the familiar faces to focus in on Essek. 

Caleb slid in next to Essek, the distance between them better measured in the lack of space than the presence of it. His lingering presence bordering on proprietary. “Yussa, this is Essek. Essek, Archmage Yussa Errenis”

“Pleased to meet you,” Essek said, far more interested in the boxes Yussa stood guard over than the man himself. 

“Oh, the pleasure is all mine. Caleb has spoken most highly of you. I’m glad we’ve finally had a chance to meet.” Yussa said his pleasantries to Essek, but held Caleb’s gaze the entire time. 

“Essek is here to see us off.”

“By all means. And, Essek, you would be more than welcome to stay with me during their expedition. I will maintain intermittent contact with them to confirm that they remain on schedule.” 

“No, thank you.” Essek said, tearing his attention from the boxes to address Yussa properly. “I have other arrangements. 

“I understand. Please know that you are always welcome here, young man. Day or night, if you need my assistance, please do not hesitate to call upon me. I would be happy to apprise you of their progress.”

“Thank you Master Errenis. I will keep that in mind.”

The Nein’s bags were packed, their supplies restocked. Caleb had both Halas’s gem and the second gravimeter. Beau was holding the Heirloom Sphere like it might spontaneously grow teeth and chomp down on her hand. Veth had their Mirror. Everyone was ready. As ready as they were going to be. Which meant that Essek was not ready at all. He stood, empty handed and unadorned, scowling at his feet. He recognized Caleb’s boots as they shuffled into his periphery. 

“I will be back as soon as possible. We all will. And once you have your beacon, and your answers, we can talk about… all this.”

“If you go now, I won’t be here when you get back,” Essek warned. "I'll leave."

Caleb’s gaze was challenging. “Well. If you are truly no longer interested in that conversation, I will not force you.”

And that was the rub, wasn’t it? Essek could push and push his bluff until he had nowhere to go but off of a cliff with no answers, no beacon, and no Caleb. Or he could... Not. 

His instinct was to push. To dig in his heels and his claws and make everyone and everything else bow to his desire. To make his way the only viable option. But he was expendable. He needed these people far more than they needed him. He wanted to think that Caleb would at least miss him. And maybe a few of the others would too. But enough to hunt him down? Enough to bring him home? (Why was it ‘bring him home’, not ‘drag him back into lockdown’? When had that happened?)

To admit that he feared his insignificance tasted too much like weakness, like defeat. He held Caleb’s glare like he had something to prove and shrugged like he had nothing to lose. “I guess we’ll both see, won’t we?”

“Goodbye Essek. I’ll be back soon, I promise.”

Essek’s throat closed around his own farewell, smothering it before he could respond. He watched, silent as the Nein disappeared into the sphere. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much everybody for sticking with me through this. Your support, kudos, and comments are all so appreciated! This is another bear of a chapter, but there wasn't a good way to split it. Unbetaed as always. Goof corrections and construction criticism welcome!
> 
> CW: Continued themes from previous chapters. Near the end of the chapter there is a non-explicit, but extremely dubcon scene. Both characters consent in the context of the scene, but information is deliberately withheld from a character to manipulate them into a vulnerable position. This scene is not between Essek and Caleb.

Essek wasn’t sure how long he stood there, staring at the nothing which had once been the Nein. Long enough, it seemed, for Yussa to leave with the empty boxes and return. He appreciated the silence, Yussa was neither condescending, nor coddling. He simply floated around Essek like he wasn’t even there. Which he wasn’t. It felt like. Like he had forgotten what existence was, and how to do it properly. Like his arms were not his own, and his hands would not listen to his will. Like if he stood still long enough, and well enough, he would cease to be entirely. 

“Essek?” Yussa’s soft voice cut through the void that had hollowed out Essek’s mind and Essek’s soul. It took a thousand years to respond, to force his head to turn, but he eventually forced the body that had once been his to comply.

“Master Errenis?” 

“It's getting to be lunch time, Would you like anything?”

Essek knew, with absolute certainty, that if he tried to eat, he wouldn’t be able to keep it down. He shook his head, and the static numb threatened to overtake him once more, a wave of grey _nothing_ that hollowed him out and left him adrift. 

There was a strange, warped sound that pressed on his skull. Like screams through water. Like drums through stone. He saw Yussa’s mouth moving, but could not understand what he was saying. He shook his head again, and stumbled his way out of the room. Out of the hall. Out of the tower. 

He spent the next ten minutes choking over dry heaves on the cobblestone, oblivious the perturbed looks of passers by. 

\---

Essek made it halfway to the Chateau before he was so disoriented in the blinding midday sun that he had to defer to the hastily scribbled directions stuffed in his pocket by Jester. It took him twice as long as it should have to make his way to the Chateau, and by the time he finally got there he was hot and tired and miserable. 

He declined his evening meal too.

\---

Fueled by bitterness and agitation, Essek was up the better part of the night crunching numbers. Staring at maps. Calculating how far the money the Nein had left him would take him if he up and left. He got as far as hoisting his pack onto his back, and the immediate shooting pain paralyzing his arm before reassessing the feasibility of his plan.

He recalculated how far the money might get him with a porter. It was not far enough. 

He recalculated how far the money might get him if he spent it on cheap booze. He liked those numbers better.

\---

Resigned to his fate, and bolstered with a case of wine from the Chateau’s kitchens, Essek spent the next few days in a drunken haze, poking sullenly at the gravimeter and the orrery, pretending to be productive. Pretending the shadows in his room didn’t watch him as he moved. Pretending the shadows in his mind didn’t choke his thoughts. 

The orrery was a bilunar calendar, so far as he could tell. Calibrated to a yearly cycle, but rather than months, it was marked by the changing faces of Catha and Ruidis. There were astronomical markings around the rim, some of which he recognized as constellations, and a spiral of symbols on the middle face which he did not recognize at all. If there was magic in the orrery, he could not activate it. It was nothing more than an old, pretty bronze disc in his hands. 

Every morning he activated the gravimeter, hoping for a ping other than the orrery. There never was. 

\---

The alcohol only lasted him so long, and by the end of the week he was stumbling downstairs in search of more. At first he thought the alcohol must be addling his mind, because he swore he heard a _dog barking_ . Following the sound, he found a little halfling boy and a truly _massive_ animal wrestling in the parlor, and he couldn’t help but smile. Rather than head straight to the bar, he wandered over to where the two of them were playing. “What’s his name?” he asked.

The little boy paused, and the dog took the opportunity to slather his tongue all over the boy’s face. “Auuuuugh. Grooooossss. This is Nug-” He shoved at the massive beast, who promptly sat on him in retaliation. “-Get,” he wheezed. 

Essek laughed, “Want some help with that?”

The little boy grunted, wriggling out from under Nugget’s bulk. “Nope. I got it.” He wiped his face on the sleeve of his shirt. “Your face is all messed up,” he said, pointing on his own face to where Essek’s scar was.

Essek nodded. “Yes. From the war.”

The boy’s mouth fell open into a silent ‘oh’. He looked at Nugget, and then back up at Essek. “Were you a soldier?”

Essek shook his head, “No, no I wasn’t.” 

“Did the scary bug men attack you too?”

Essek had no idea what ‘scary bug men’ were, but it seemed to be the answer the boy was expecting, so he pressed his lips together and shrugged. “Sure…”

“Luc! Where did you get off to!"

Luc grimaced. “That’s my dad.”

“Luc! I’ve been looking all over for you. I’m so sorry sir, was he bothering you?”

Essek turned to reassure the halfling man approaching him, “Oh, no, not at-”

“ _You_.” 

“Me?”

“No. No. Nope. Luc. We’re going. You? _Stay away from my son.”_ He jabbed a threatening finger in Essek’s direction.

“Wait, you know me?”

“I mean it!” The man grabbed Luc by the wrist and was nearly running as he dragged him out of the building. Essek scrambled after them. 

“Wait, please!” 

But they were too fast, and too small. By the time he got to the front door, they had disappeared into the crowded Nicodranas streets. 

Essek was certain he had heard the name Luc before somewhere, and asked Marion who they were. She told him it was their business if they wanted to introduce themselves or not.

\---

Marion was not able to stay with Essek every night, but when she had free time, she would join him in his quarters, or drag him to hers depending on her whim and his disposition. She would sit on a chair reading, or quietly singing. One night she brought a dragonchess set with her. Essek couldn’t remember ever playing a game with anyone, but the rules he remembered. 

“How are you doing Essek?” She asked, when their game had settled into a quiet lull and the soft clack of the marble pieces. 

“Fine, ma’am. Thank you.”

She delicately wrinkled her nose. “Marion, please. I’m not _that_ old.”

“Marion, then. I’m fine.”

She smoothed her hands over her skirts, dark hair spilling over her shoulder like a waterfall as she leaned forward with a knowing grin “You know, my Little Sapphire warned me that you could be a pretty liar.” She flicked her hair back over her shoulder. “But you’re not terribly good at it when you think you’re the smartest one in the room.”

Essek blanched. “I don’t- I didn’t say that.”

Marion slid her oliphant across the board, plucking off his cleric “Liar,” she said fondly, “And check.”

Essek was taken aback. He stared down at the boards, stunned by the move, and perhaps more importantly, stunned by Marion. “I’m not sure what you want me to say.”

“The truth would be a start. How are you?”

He had no idea how to answer that question. What was he supposed to say without sounding pathetic? Unreasonable? “I am… surviving.” It was not a lie. It was a massive overstatement of his capacity to function. But it wasn't a lie.

“So I see. That must be hard. You’ve been through a lot.”

Essek was quiet for a moment, pretending like he was considering his move, but more trying to think of the appropriate words to convey the guilt of suffering when there is no justifiable reason for it. “I don’t think it really counts when you can’t remember anything.”

“Oh sweetheart. The soul remembers. I can see the hurt in your eyes.”

“I’m fi-” He cut himself off before he could say it again. Lie again. “There are more important things to worry about.” 

Marion settled back in her seat, gesturing wide around the otherwise unoccupied room. “Not at the moment there aren’t. Would you be willing to tell me what you’re thinking right now?”

“Please, really. I don’t wish to be a burden.” 

“You are not a burden, Essek,” Marion said, “You’re a clever man, but your mind is as capable of lying to yourself as it is to others."

Essek scowled, uncomfortable with the exchange on principle, and unsure what it was supposed to accomplish. “I am… lonely. And frustrated.” 

“Frustrated? Check.” 

Essek grumbled down at the game, slamming down his griffon with more force than was necessary. They both winced. “Yes, frustrated. I don’t like being powerless.”

“Why do you feel like you’re powerless?”

“Because I can’t remember who I am! I cannot fight. I cannot do magic. I can barely walk. I am reliant on everyone for everything. I am- I am _afraid_. All of the time.”

“That does sound very frustrating,” She said in commiseration. “What about what you _can_ do?”

Essek tore his gaze away from the boards. “I don’t understand.”

“My daughter told me you saved Veth’s life. And that your beacon detector would not exist were it not for your clever thinking. These are things you did that no one else could.”

“I don’t think that’s true…”

“And yet, your friends do.”

Essek bowed his head, the desire to retreat growing more pressing the deeper into the conversation he stumbled. This was accomplishing nothing but humiliation. “I don’t think you can really call us friends.”

“Why not?”

“They do not like me very much.”

Marion was quiet, inspecting his hunched form with searching intensity. She eventually nodded, finding whatever answer she was searching for. “Perhaps not right now. But they love you. Or they would not be risking their lives for you.”

Essek grimaced, over the weeks he had come up with a multitude of reasons they might be helping him that didn't involve affection. He blurted out the most likely of them. “I was very powerful. I will no doubt be a useful asset to them when I am restored.”

“Essek.”

“Yes. Uh, Marion?”

“You will forgive the vulgarity, but that is a load of horse shit.”

Essek laughed, more surprised by her preface than the profanity itself. “I beg your pardon?”

“You shall not have it. I will not allow you to speak of my daughter that way. Nor her friends. They are not so cruel.”

“I-” Essek was forced to think of Jester. Of Caleb. Of Caduceus and Yasha. There was no cruelness there. Fjord was pragmatic, but not cruel. Veth was mischievous, but not malignant. Beau? He paused the longest considering Beau. Perhaps she was cruel. But he couldn’t see her trying to manipulate him like that. It's the sort of thing she would accuse him of doing, not the other way around. It was the sort of thing he _would_ do. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Indeed.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re forgiven. Now please. Take your turn.”

“Right, yes.”

She was a surprisingly competent player. He won, in the end. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that he won because she let him. And he got the distinct impression she reveled in his uncertainty

\---

Marion kept asking Essek when he was going to visit Yussa. When he was going to check in on his friends and bring her back an update on her daughter. He always skirted the answer. He hadn’t gone back because one, it was a long walk, and the thought of getting lost put him on edge. But two, because the vicious grudge he was nursing was the only thing that was getting him through most nights. 

To check in on them meant he _cared_ . Meant he had _forgiven_ them for abandoning him. And he wasn’t sure they deserved that (wasn't sure _he_ deserved that). He wasn’t sure if he was ready to give up the burning loathing that pushed him through the dark, terrifying nights when no one else was there to help.

But eventually his curiosity got the better of him. The nagging frustration of not knowing what was happening, and Marion’s gentle, constant expectation won out and he found himself wandering towards the Open Quay. Wensforth was waiting with an open door before he had even reached the tower. 

Essek wiped the sweat from his forehead. “I’m sorry to bother you. Do you know if your master has heard from my-” Friends? Associates? “-people?”

Wensforth nodded eagerly and stood aside, gesturing for Essek to come in. Which was not what Essek had planned. He’d wanted an update, at the door, to leave as quickly as he had come. He had no taste for socializing. But apparently the price for information was just that. He sighed and shuffled inside. 

Yussa was merciful, or busy. Essek wasn’t entirely sure which. Wensforth ushered him into a study, where Yussa had his nose buried in a book, furiously scribbling in the margins of whatever he was working on. He invited Essek to sit, but did not force the matter when Essek declined in favor of absentmindedly snooping through his book case. 

Yussa had made contact, he explained. A scheduled meeting in which, for the Nein, four hours had passed. They were making progress, but had not yet reached the Control Room.

“It’s been over a week,” Essek said, perturbed. 

Yussa shrugged, “That is the nature of the time dilation magic in the device. Once the dodecahedron is removed, I presume that time will flow for them the same as it does for us. But until then, we have no good way of knowing how long this will take.” 

Essek sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He pressed hard on the sharp shard of bone that never set correctly, the pain grounding. 

“I am sorry, Essek. I know you were hoping for better news.”

“I was not hoping for anything.” Essek said, suddenly and irrationally defensive.

Yussa turned to him, eyes narrowed and an eyebrow raised. He didn't look particularly convinced. “Of course. Will that be all then? If you’re not busy, I could show you my lab.”

“No. Thank you, Master Errenis. I had best be going. I’ll… Ah, perhaps I will come back in a few days to see if there are any more updates?”

"I’ll be expecting you then." Yussa nodded and turned back to his desk with an absent wave. The door to the study opened with a soft click. 

\---

Essek took to exploring the city around the Chateau in the evenings when the sun overhead was not so hard on his eyes. He could pretend that he was a free man, could pretend that he had a life, that he belonged. He spent long hours in small books stores, until he was shooed out because they were closing. Would wander through apothecaries and enchanters shops, filled with achingly familiar smells and sights, and uncomfortable, foreign voids where he knew intimate knowledge must once have been. Would peer in on temples and shrines, though never entered, unable to shake a feeling of unease at their threshold even when kind old priests would urge him to join them. 

He wandered through the markets, peeking in stalls and gardens, and watched the ships in the harbor. Occasionally he would linger in front of some useless little trinket or another, struck by sudden, unexpected whimsy. But each time he would push down the impulse, dismissing it as useless sentiment. 

Ready to drown in cheap booze and the din of oppressive laughter, he’d challenged himself to never visit the same tavern twice. To discover as many holes in the wall as he could find and see how many different ways things could be exactly the same.

Essek had hunkered down in the corner of his nightly tavern, as he often did. Some lingering instinct to keep himself facing the door, his back to the wall. He couldn't say why, just that he felt more settled when he could keep a weather eye on the tavern’s comings and goings. He was nursing a spectacularly terrible mug of cheap ale and struggling through a spectacularly terrible book on King Dwendal when a face appeared sideways in his periphery.

"You a spy?"

Essek's heart stopped. He glanced up, meeting the gaze of the elven man who was lingering at his table and quickly closed the book. "Uh. What?"

The man laughed and gestured towards Essek’s book with his own drink. "Dark elf, researching Dwendalians?" He leaned in conspiratorially, "Planning on infiltrating?"

Essek stared at him, tentatively accepting that this was some rube with a terrible sense of humor, and no one who truly suspected his identity. "Yes. You have figured out my evil scheme. I do all my best planning in shithole taverns where anyone could see me," he deadpanned.

The man laughed. An earnest, bright sound that had Essek smiling and shaking his head. He slid his book away, cutting off any more probing questions at its expense. 

"Anyone sitting here?" The man asked, nodding at the bench beside Essek.

Essek should say yes there was. Or, at least that he wasn't looking for company, especially not the company of nosy elves. The tavern wasn't _that_ full. There were plenty of places that this man could sit that were not purposefully invading Essek’s space.

This man whose clothes were shabby and who smelled vaguely of fish, who should have been spectacularly terrible, just like his book and his drink, this was not someone worth Essek’s time. And yet, he ached for company. He had not expected to miss the Nein and their constant overwhelming presence and their casual touches so acutely, but it wore like a wound on his heart. And this perfect stranger was offering to relieve a moment of that loneliness.

Perhaps sensing Essek's hesitation, the man gestured to his drink. "I'll buy you a refill?" 

Essek rolled his eyes and scooted over, "Fine." 

The man plopped heavily down next to Essek, bumping him with his elbow. "The name's Owain.

“E-ah. Ildan.” 

Owain was a fisherman, Essek discovered. He had sun-tanned skin and salt-bleached hair and the arms of a man who did heavy labor. He had an easy smile and an infectious laugh, and he was generous with his expressive, affectionate hands. He spoke of the sea, of ships, of life in Nicodranas. All things Essek should have found oppressively _dull_ , but… didn’t. Essek found it surprisingly easy to talk to him. Essek found it even more surprising to realize the sun had disappeared behind the horizon, time stolen with it, and he had barely noticed. 

Their bodies had drifted closer over the span of hours and cheap drinks, until they were touching from hip to thigh, and their shoulders brushed against each other as they spoke and laughed. 

Owain asked him if he had anywhere to be. The question was light, curious. He gently rested a hand on Essek’s thigh and looked at him in a silent, hopeful invitation. His warm green eyes turned luminous hazel in the firelight. They were not Caleb’s eyes. They were not the color of the sky and the sea. They did not crinkle with deep wrinkles at the corners when he smiled. He had no pretty little freckles painting his cheeks like stars.

Essek’s gaze was drawn to Owain’s mouth as his tongue flicked out to wet his lips. He wondered what it felt like to kiss someone who really wanted it. Wanted him. Someone who didn’t look at him and see a broken man with a broken past. “No,” he said softly, leaning in to brush his nose against Owain’s. “I don’t have anywhere to be.”

Owain closed the distance between them, capturing Essek’s mouth with his own. 

There was no high of triumph, no giddy celebration, no impulsive elation spurring him to action. Just the languid, soft pressure of Owain’s lips on his. Essek leaned closer, lips parting with a sigh. The hand on his thigh slid up to his hip, gently inviting him to turn his body, Owain rewarding him with a groan and a probing tongue when he did. Owain’s shoulder was pressed into Essek’s chest at an uncomfortable angle, and he tasted like watered down ale, but Essek found himself not caring, chasing after Owain’s tongue with his own. 

“I have a room here,” Owain said when they parted to catch their breath. The pads of his fingers traced the hem of Essek’s trousers at the small of his back and the heat of skin touching his skin was overwhelming. 

“Show me,” Essek said.  
  


Owain was a good man. When Essek realized he could not stand the weight of a body pressing him down into the mattress, he carefully avoided trapping him with his bulk. When Essek realized his legs could not bend as far as either of them had expected, he propped him up with pillows and blankets. And when Essek choked on Caleb’s name, and was left feeling hollowed out and cold, Owain stopped, and curled up next to him, and ran his hands through Essek's hair.

That night, for the first time in weeks, Essek found the darkness almost tolerable. They laid together until the sun rose.  
  


The next morning, when they were both dressed once more and lingering at the door that would lead them back to reality, Owain turned to him. “Would you be interested in getting dinner with me tonight?”

Warning bells went off in Essek’s mind. Caution against getting too close. Against getting attached. The dangerous, yearning desperation that told him Caleb might yet come back. Might yet say yes. Essek frowned and shook his head, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Owain nodded in sad understanding. “I hope you find what you’re looking for,” he said, kissing Essek on the cheek. “If you ever need a friend, you know where to find me.”

“Thank you,” Essek said, knowing full well that he would not come back. 

\---

Essek realized, after that, it was surprisingly easy to find people to go home with. To find people that would hold him and touch him and chase away the shadows in his room and in his mind. He could leave, or he could stay, whichever he pleased. He was never an ex-wizard. He was never a criminal. He was never heartsick and lonely and miserable. He was just a face. Just a body. Wrapped in heat and sweat, he could disappear. They didn’t ask for his name, he didn’t ask for theirs, and afterwards he never had to see them again.

\---

Whenever Essek braved the journey to check on the Nein's progress, it always went the same way. Yussa would give Essek his update, either that he’d heard from the Nein, or he hadn’t. Yussa would invite Essek to stay. Essek would turn him down. Four times Essek had dragged himself to the Tidepeak, and four times Essek had dragged himself back to the Chateau not an hour later. Yussa never seemed to expect him to stay. But he offered anyway, it almost seemed like he saw it as a joke, like he saw Essek’s constant refusals as amusing and quaint. 

This time Essek found himself worn down by poor weather and poorer spirits. He was lonely. And oppressively bored. And he had no desire to walk back to the Chateau in the rain. So after finding out the party was supposedly closing in on the Control Room, and nothing more, Essek grudgingly accepted Yussa’s invitation, telling himself it was because his legs hurt, not because he wanted someone to talk to. 

They chatted absently for a while over rice and raw fish. Yussa told him what he knew of the Heirloom Sphere, and of Halas Lutagran. The work he had done researching the various demiplanes and pocket dimensions. 

Essek, for lack of any other work to share, and unwilling to sit in complete incompetence, told him about developing the gravimeters, and about his idea to track the time dilation surrounding beacons. He pulled out the first gravimeter, and pushed it across the table for Yussa to look at. 

“I’m impressed,” Yussa said, “That is a very clever work around. Have you tried it in the field?”

Essek nodded, “Yes, we got a false positive. Or. Not a _false_ positive. But the positive was not the artifact we were searching for.”

“Oh? What was it, if I may ask.” Yussa pushed the gravimeter back across the table to Essek, who pulled it into his lap. 

“An orrery. Some kind of bilunar calendar. I haven’t been able to activate it, but given that it gives off a dunamantic signal, I assume it possesses some kind of time magic.”

“Fascinating. Do you have it with you?”

Essek shook his head, “No, I don’t keep it on me. It’s too large.”

“Understandable. If you’d be interested, we could look at it here the next time you come over? I’d be happy to help arrange transportation.” 

“I’ll think about it.”

“That’s all I ask for.” It sounded like the new punch line to Yussa’s unspoken joke.

\---

Essek wasn’t _sneaking_ back into the Chateau, per say. But still he was absolutely _not_ looking to bump into Marion. So when she waved him down as he was dragging himself up to his room after another night out, he sighed and wearily headed in her direction, gearing up for the inevitable fight for his autonomy that seemed to follow him wherever he went. 

“Essek, darling. A moment, before you go to bed?”

“Yes Marion?”

“You’ve been staying out quite late recently.” 

Essek bristled. “Is that not permitted?”

Marion laughed, to his surprise. “I am not your mother, Essek. I can neither permit nor forbid. I just have a question for you.”

“Yes?”

“Are you being safe?”

“Am I-- _Excuse me_?” 

Marion propped one hand on her hip and gestured to her own neck with the other. She regarded him with a raised eyebrow, “Essek. Sex is my business, and you have a love bite the size of the Chateau just here that you’re doing a terrible job of hiding. Nothing you are doing is going to make me blush. But I want to make sure that you’re being smart about it." She cupped his jaw in her hand, gently caressing his cheek with her thumb. "I know you're lonely, but I don't want to see you get hurt."

He tugged on his collar with a scowl. Why she thought she could preach about safety in one capacity after promising not to in another, he couldn’t fathom. “I’m not doing anything I don’t want to.” It wasn't an answer to the question she asked, but chafing under her scrutiny, it was the only answer he was willing to give. Blessedly, she didn’t press. 

“Alright. Have fun darling. You always have a safe place here if you want one.”

“Thank you Marion.” He turned to leave, but she grabbed his arm.   
  
“Oh. One more thing, I nearly forgot. Veth’s husband was wondering if he could speak to you.”

The man with the dog. He nodded eagerly. “Yes, of course.”

“I’ll let him know.”

\---

Anticipating the meeting with Veth’s husband put Essek in the best mood he had been in since the Nein left. He found himself feeling particularly indulgent after waffling back and forth for far too long on Yussa’s offer to look over the orrery with him.

He asked Yussa to arrange for transportation for the orrery. For all Essek knew, his ridiculous magical void was all that was preventing the device from being activated, and he would feel terribly foolish if he allowed it to languish simply because of his personal curse. 

But getting it to Yussa was easier said than done. Essek had managed to get the orrery from his room down two flights of stairs without falling to his death, but ran out of stamina not far from the landing. The journey across the lobby was looking more and more daunting by the moment. Yussa had sent a wagon, but no one accompanied it but the driver, so Essek had to get the damned thing outside on his own, and he had half a mind to simply dump it where he stood. 

He was bemoaning his predicament when a dwarf woman in blue came up to him. “Ildan Dyrr?”

It took Essek a moment to remember that was him. “Ah, yes?”

She gestured to the heavy disk, “Would you like a hand with that?” He gave her a grateful nod. When she grabbed the other half of the disk, taking well more than half the weight he nearly lost his balance. She laughed, “That cart outside for you?”

Essek nodded again, and the two of them shuffled their way outside. She hoisted it into the wagon for him. “Thank you so much.” He found himself meaning it. 

“Not a problem. But I’m actually here on behalf of Archivist Ealomin. I have correspondence for you.”

“Correspondence?”

“Yep.”

Essek was lost, but the woman’s garb was similar enough to Beau’s, and she knew Essek’s alias, so he assumed there was nothing untoward about her message. “What is it?”

She held out a small piece of folded paper. “Here. Please read it, and then I will dispose of it for you.”

He unfolded the paper, unsure what to expect. The message was written in Undercommon, the handwriting unfamiliar.

_E,_

_Words cannot express how happy I am to hear from you. I’m working with our mutual acquaintance to schedule a chance for us to meet. I don’t know the time table yet. Maybe by the time you get this, I’ll know more. Stay safe._

_I love you,_

_V_

“This is my-”   
  
The woman held up her hand to cut off his question. “Be in Port Damali in two weeks. Our guest has made arrangements to visit for three days.”

“Two weeks. Exactly two weeks?”

She held out her hand for the note, and he reluctantly returned it to her. It ignited with a snap of her fingers and he found himself inexplicably saddened watching it burn. “If you’re there in exactly two weeks, that’ll give you a safe buffer in case our guest’s schedule changes.” 

He nodded eagerly, “I’ll be there. Thank you for telling me.” 

She saluted and ambled off, leaving him standing next to the wagon. Already riding high on a good mood, when he climbed in, he even greeted the driver. 

\---

Essek watched enviously as Yussa floated the orrery out of the wagon with a flick of his wrist. The heavy artifact, which had taken him the better part of the morning to move, was inside and upstairs in less than ten minutes, leaving an exhausted Essek in its wake. Yussa said nothing, even though Essek was certain he did not cut the most pleasant figure covered in the sweat of exertion. Instead he invited Essek to join him in cataloging the device.

It was a different tactic from the one Essek had employed, and Essek was fairly certain it wasn’t just because Yussa was sober. He took precise measurements, tested the metal, counted the gears, took rubbings of the symbols. All to record and preserve every physical detail of the device. In case something happened to it, he had explained. He cast spells upon it to determine its function, and (he explained), like the dodecahedron before it, the peculiar dunamantic energy that powered it was completely novel to him. 

Yussa was confident of Arcanaean provenance, that the spiraling symbols on the face of the orrery were from a writing system that had not been used in well over a millennia. He was surprised Essek didn’t recognize it. Essek told himself he must have, once, before everything was taken from him. He preferred that to thinking he had never learned it at all.

How the orrery had found its way to being buried under a humble farmstead on the Menagerie Coast, Yussa couldn’t fathom. Essek was comforted by the knowledge that this man did not _completely_ eclipse him in ability. He yearned so badly to remember. To know. To be able to connect the pieces that this archmage could not.

\---

Essek didn’t go out that night. Marion had mentioned that Veth’s husband would be available the next morning and he didn’t want to miss his summons. He found himself fidgeting and restless. Not just because he was alone, and it was dark, but the thought that, perhaps, this man might finally have some answers for him. 

There was little for him to do, he’d left the orrery with Yussa, Marion was busy. He had the gravimeter, and he had a few books, none of which he had the focus to dedicate time to. He was far too anxious to settle into anything remotely resembling a trance.

Eventually he went down to the bar, bought a bottle of wine, and set about drinking himself into oblivion. 

\---

In the morning, (was it morning? It seemed too bright to be morning. Either that was the alcohol's doing, or it was later than he thought), Essek stirred to the sound of knuckles rapping on the door. He opened it to find Nadine, the picture of poise, waiting for him on the other side. She pursed her lips, regarding him with the barest hint of disapproval, but said nothing of his appearance. “Mister Essek? Mister Brenatto is here. Are you, ah… Ready?”

Essek looked down at himself, the clothes he had not taken off from the day before rumpled, his shirt half unbuttoned. He ran a perfunctory hand through his hair, smoothing it down. “Give me ten minutes, I’m so sorry. Time got away from me.” 

She nodded and reached for the doorknob, “I’ll be just out here when you’re ready.”

He scrambled for clean clothes. Unsure how formal this meeting was supposed to be, he settled on something nicer than comfortable, but not necessarily _pretentious_ for an early morning get together, and wasted the briefest moment being grateful for Jester’s thoughtful shopping. He’d never told her, but he’d been impressed by the wardrobe she’d bought for him. 

His hair was a lost cause, stuck up at odd angles from worrying it with his fingers and finally long enough that there was no hiding its unruliness. He dunked his comb in a glass of water and dragged it through the tangles. It was. Better. Ish.

He opened the door again, Nadine raked her gaze over him once more. “Are you ready?” She asked, and he couldn’t tell if that was because he still looked like a mess, or because she was genuinely curious. Either way, he wasn’t changing again. He nodded.

“Alright, we’ve set aside the conference room for you. Bluud is there at Mister Brenatto’s request, just to make sure the conversation stays civil, you understand. He won’t interfere otherwise.” 

Stays civil? Why wouldn’t it stay civil? “Right… of course.”

She led him across the inn to a set of double doors. Inside was a long table, set for perhaps ten or so individuals. The only one sitting at the table was a small halfling. Bluud lingered by the doorway, grunting fondly at Nadine as she breezed back out of the room.

Essek stood awkwardly between the door and the table, unsure of what he was expected to do. “Hello again. You, ah. Have me at something of a disadvantage.” 

The halfling narrowed his eyes at Essek, and left him in stubborn silence far longer than propriety would normally dictate. “Yeza,” he said finally. “Yeza Brenatto.” 

“Just Essek. But, ah. The pleasure is all mine.” 

“Yeah, it kind of is.”

“What?”

“Nevermind.”

“Uhm. Yes. Well… You wanted to speak with me?” This is what he got up early for? 

“So you don’t remember me at all, huh?”

“No, I’m sorry. I don’t remember much of anything. I assume we knew each other?”

Yeza’s expression darkened. “Yeah. You could say that. You tortured me.”

The words should have been troubling. And in a distant, abstract way, they were. More than anything he found it information to be tucked away under the largely empty _Shadowhand_ folder in his mind. But he couldn’t hide his excitement in finding someone who knew who he was, and was seemingly willing to talk. “Why? What were you doing?”

“Uh. That’s not. Not really the p-point.” Yeza said, glancing at Bluud. The minotaur snorted in what might have been reassurance or warning, Essek couldn't tell. He edged away, just to be safe.

“Please. Tell me everything.”

“You’re not supposed to be excited about this!” Yeza’s voice rose an octave as he shrunk deeper into his chair. 

“I’m not- You don’t understand. No one has told me anything. I barely know who I was, what I did- I need to know. Please.”

“I tell you that you _tortured_ me and you get _excited_! What is wrong with you?”

Agitated and restless, Essek took to pacing in the largely empty room. He pressed his palms together in front of his mouth, trying to figure out the most diplomatic way to express his feelings. He turned to Yeza, spreading his arms wide in an attempt to look beseeching, open. “I’m not, I promise. I’m not excited about that. Torture is bad. And I’m sorry that happened to you, but. No one has told me _anything_. If you know anything… Please.”

Yeza looked torn. Like he _had_ been planning on saying more, but suddenly Essek wanted it, and it was no longer the retribution he had hoped for. 

“ _Please_.”

Yeza’s expression hardened and he looked down at the table, fingers running over the fine grain of the wood. “I… admit it feels nice to hear you beg.”

“ _Please_ ,” Essek repeated.

“I’m not doing this for you,” Yeza said, “I’m doing it for me. Because I’m not like you. I can’t live with this eating me up inside. This is your burden. Not mine. And I don’t want to live with it anymore.”

Essek nodded eagerly. 

He told Essek about Felderwin being attacked. His son being hidden from soldiers (the ‘scary bug men’. Xhorhassians). About the long march to Xhorhas being dragged by worms. About the _interrogations_ . About having to hide in Nicodranas because his home wasn’t safe anymore. All the ways Essek had ruined _everything.  
_ _  
_ Essek was quiet. Calculating. Running names of places and people through his head, against the scant information he knew about himself. About Veth. He waited to feel something. But it was like reading his biography in a book. It was hearing about someone else’s life. And it still didn’t explain what he had done to warrant the punishment he had been given. Everything Yeza described could logically be explained away in a spymaster’s service to a wartorn crown. He tried to keep the disappointment out of his voice, tried to infuse as much sympathy as he could muster when he repeated, “I’m sorry.”

Yeza looked at him long and hard, and shook his head. “No, you’re not,” he said, as disappointed as Essek. “But that’s not my problem. It’s yours.”

Essek was left with a deep, lingering disquiet when Yeza got up and walked out of the room, leaving him alone with a table and ten chairs. 

Not because he still did not have the answers he sought. Not because he had been called out for dishonesty. But that his dishonesty might somehow be most detrimental to himself? He didn't understand what that meant. And for some reason, that bothered him.

\---

Essek and Yussa fell into a habit of working on the orrery every three days. Essek couldn’t manage the walk more frequently than that, but he found himself looking forward to their meetings despite the pain. 

Once, on the way to Yussa’s tower, Essek swore he heard someone calling his name. But when he'd searched for the source, he could find none.

\---

After spending a few afternoons dedicated to poking and prodding, Essek and Yussa had managed to unlock only one facet of the orrery. They could put an apple on the bronze face, and turn the Ruidis ring clockwise, causing it to spoil. They could put a frog upon it, and turn the Ruidis ring counter-clockwise, causing it to revert to a tadpole. They could find no use for the Catha ring. Yussa wondered if it might be damaged, but saw no obvious defect in the device. 

Their most recent session had gone late, experimenting with what was and was not affected by the Ruidus ring. They had come to establish that only organic material reacted to it, and the sample must have been alive at some point, even if it was no longer.

It was near dinnertime, and they had not heard from the Nein even though they were scheduled to check in. Essek refused to admit he was worried, but asked that they activate the mirror on their end, so that he would not have to return to Marion empty handed. The mirror connected, but the image immediately froze on a half obscured, blurry image of Veth's face, and the only sound that came through was a pulsing, almost melodic static. 

Yussa didn’t want to risk wasting another charge by trying again when he was confident they were alright. By their pre-established timetable, the Nein were probably on their way back. Hopefully with a beacon. Perhaps that was what was interfering with the mirror. 

Essek couldn’t help a creeping, sinking feeling that Yussa was wrong. That something terrible had happened and they were never coming back. That Caleb had lied after all. He had stayed, he had waited. And it had all been for nothing. 

He grabbed his gravimeter and left Yussa's tower without saying goodbye. 

\---

Near to Yussa’s tower was a tavern called The Golden Gull. It had always given Essek the distinct impression of being a little too expensive to get wasted at economically so he had never ventured inside, but this time he was desperate. He didn’t want to walk. He wanted to drink. He wanted to forget. He wanted to not be alone. 

He’d discovered through trial and error that seduction, like everything, could be distilled into a predictable, repeatable formula. He smiled even when he was not happy. He laughed even when the jokes were not funny. He was impressed even when someone was not particularly impressive. None of this ended up being necessary.

The man who slid into the seat across from Essek like he was owed it was human, at least a head taller than Essek, and had the most fascinating, labyrinthine tattoos on his forearms. Essek didn’t even have to pretend to be curious. 

He proved himself adept at wrangling Essek from his fatalistic mood, indulgent in his praise and earnest in his sincerity, with a quick wit and an intelligent sense of humor that more than once left Essek barking in genuinely surprised laughter. And yet, for all his concern, he made no efforts to talk himself up, nor to imply he was looking for anything more than exactly what Essek wanted. Anything more than to be a convenient body to take away the pain.

The man drained the last of Essek’s drink and asked him where he was staying. 

Nowhere that they could go, Essek told him. Which wasn't entirely true. Essek couldn't imagine Marion turning them away. But he didn't feel like walking that far.

So the man dragged him to a rowhouse a few streets over. He held a finger over Essek’s lips, warning him with a conspiratorial grin to be quiet, that he was not supposed to be entertaining guests. Essek nipped at his finger, grinning right back.

With the door closed and locked behind them, the man turned his singular attention to leaving Essek blissed out and wrung out, exhausted and boneless and desperate, begging him to just _fuck him already_. 

So the man obliged.

Afterwards, broad fingers stroking lazily over Essek’s stomach, he softly murmured Essek’s name into the shell of his ear. Thoughts molasses slow, Essek turned to him in reflex, not bothering to school his lazy, contented smile. Then he froze. A flicker of unease welling up through the exhaustion, as Essek willed his brain to rouse long enough to recount their conversation, and confirm that he never told this man his name. He never did with these people. 

“My name is Ildan.” He said, a fraction of a second too late for the correction to be convincing. 

The man hummed deep in his chest, his hand settling like lead over Essek’s stomach. 

“I need to go.” He tried to sit up, but his limbs felt like sand and he was easily pinned. Panic and adrenaline bubbled up through his fatigue, screaming trapped, screaming _run_. “I mean it. People will be looking for me.”

The man’s hand slid up his chest and wrapped around his throat, forcing him to turn his head. “You're right. We’ve been looking for you for a long time.” 

Essek didn’t even realize he was crying until the man wiped at his face, “Oh, hush now Rättchen. If I wanted to hurt you, I would have already.”

“What do you want from me?”

“Your cooperation, Essek. It will be better for you that way.” 

Essek nodded miserably. The man slid a heavy metal collar out from between the mattress and the wall and snapped it around Essek's neck. Something cold and insidious settled in Essek’s stomach like a memory that had been carved out and left to rot. 

“Good. I’m going to let go, and you’re going to put your clothes on, you understand?”

“Yes.” 

“If you try to make a run for it, I will end you. Got it?”

The cold shackle was an unforgiving pressure against his throat as he swallowed and nodded. The man’s hand slowly slipped away from his throat. Essek struggled to come up with an escape plan that included neither curling up and accepting his fate, nor dying for his efforts. His captor loomed between him and the still locked door. Then a long stretch of hallway, stairs, and another door to get outside to safety (had he locked that door too? Essek, distracted by hungry desperation, had not been paying attention). There was no way he’d be fast enough to get away. Too proud to perish in nothing but his skin, Essek, picking up his trousers with shaking hands. Behind him he could hear the swish of fabric and leather as the man pulled on his own clothes.

Essek moved as if in a dream, trapped in his own mind, watching the world unfold around him and through him with no power to direct the flow of his self-made ruin. It took Essek three tries before he schooled his hands and his panic into submission to feed his belt through the majority of the loops on his trousers. There was no way he would be able to do the buttons on his shirt. He pulled one arm through a sleeve and-

The window.

There was nothing between him and the window. They were a floor up, the fall would hurt like hell, but shouldn’t be lethal. He spared a brief glance out of the corner of his eye to see the man strapping himself into a bandolier that he hadn’t been wearing in the tavern. 

Essek didn’t wait to see what the bandolier was for. He threw his shoulder into the window, and glass and wood shattered around him. He could hear the man swear behind him, but he was already falling. Something cracked when he hit the ground, and for a few terrifying moments his vision swam and he could see _nothing_. Then the world crystalized back into focus right as the man finished an incantation and a ball of electricity came roaring towards him.

It hit where he was sitting, the purple magic sizzling and sparking all around him, but for the size of the impact, he felt almost nothing. He could taste the ozone in the air, and feel the static in his hair, but the pain of being shocked never came.

He had no time to linger on why he was not a spasming puddle on the ground. Shirt abandoned in the debris, he fled on coltish, uncoordinated legs. Yussa’s tower was only a few streets away. 

He heard a crash behind him, and a few distressed shouts but he did not risk looking over his shoulder. Another blast of magic sent him stumbling sideways.

His lungs were on fire, and he screamed. For aid, for Yussa, for anyone at all, hoping that someone might hear.

Essek rounded the last corner before the street opened up around the Tidepeak. So relieved that safety was within his reach, he missed the subtle shift between one cobblestone and the next. He lost his balance, slamming hard into the ground. The man jogged into view behind him, barely even breathing hard. Essek tried to push himself to his feet, but couldn’t force his legs to cooperate.

“That was a bad play Rättchen.” the man said, stalking over to Essek’s prone form. “You’ve accomplished nothing but testing my patience.”

Essek curled in on himself, the fight gone out of him, resigned to his fate at the hands of the tattooed man.

“ _Stop_.” That sounded like. Yussa? Essek peeked out from under his arm, Yussa was standing a few feet away, between him and the tower as if he’d always been there. The man was frozen in his tracks. 

“Tell me what you’re doing in my city.”

The man made a strained noise, struggling against whatever enchantment Yussa had trapped him in, “Hunting _rats_.” 

“Tell me whom you serve.”

The man snarled furiously, teeth bared like a dog’s, the tendons in his neck straining from the effort of fighting to break free of the spell. “Ikithon.”

Yussa’s face was impassive, he spared no glance for Essek, and spoke to the man as if he were the most uninteresting creature in the world. “Take out your knife.”

Essek uncurled, watched in fascination as the man tugged a knife from his boot, his movements stilted and mechanical, his noncompliance painted in the fury on his face. 

“Stab yourself in the carotid artery.”

Essek’s fascination turned morbid as the man buried the knife in his neck. 

“Now twist your knife.”

With a wet gurgle, the knife rotated in the wound, and blood was everywhere. It was a matter of one moment to the next for the man to collapse in a heap, face white, everything else red, the violent hemorrhage almost surreal. 

Yussa knelt down next to Essek. “Can you get to your feet?”

"I don't think so." Essek wheezed, ribs on fire and legs spent.

Yussa made a few quick gestures, murmuring an incantation under his breath. He seemed surprised when nothing happened, and scowled. "A moment."

Essek nodded, and watched the man bleed out in the street while he waited. The spurting had eased to a sluggish ooze, the man's hand still latched tightly to the knife in his neck as a moat of crimson pooled around him. Essek found a strange, vicious comfort in the sight. 

"Do you think you can at least get onto this?" Yussa asked, tearing him from his thoughts. A stretcher had appeared on the ground. It was Essek's turn to grimace. 

He hoisted himself the short distance to the stretcher, shoulder screaming in protest, and collapsed upon it. He was too exhausted to worry about pretense. If he wasn't so exhausted he wouldn't need the damn thing anyway, so it hardly mattered. 

Yussa hoisted the stretcher into the air with magic, and the door to the tower coalesced before them. Wensforth peeked out.

"Clean that up, please." Yussa said, gesturing at the body as he pushed Essek inside. 

Wensforth made a small, disgusted noise of protest. "I'll get the mop." 

Yussa took Essek to a sitting room, and guided the cot next to a sofa. "I apologize. We're not exactly equipped with an infirmary here…"

Essek eased himself onto the sofa with a pained grunt. Once he was settled, Yussa disappeared the stretcher with a wave of his hand. "I will get you a health potion."

"It won't work," Essek warned. "We've tried it before."

Yussa faltered. "A cleric?"

Essek shook his head.

"That's… inconvenient." 

Essek laughed wearily, then winced, clutching at his side. "Tell me about it."

“Would you like help getting that off?” Yussa asked, gesturing to the collar. 

Essek had almost forgotten about it. “Please.” He bowed his head forward, the motion sent his head throbbing anew. 

Yussa padded over to him and set to working on the magic locking mechanism. After a moment, he hummed in confusion. “Why did he put this on you?” 

Essek flushed dark purple, and stared stubbornly ahead. “He didn’t say.” 

The seal broke and the collar snapped open. Yussa carefully lifted it away. “This is enchanted with antimagic If he knew you could not cast, he would not have put it on you.”

“Small blessings.” Essek said grimly. 

Yussa sat on the couch across from Essek, quietly taking in his appearance. Essek remembered with a sudden shame that he wasn’t wearing a shirt. And then another rush of panic when he realized he must have landed on the gravimeter when he fell. He lurched to his feet, ignoring the sudden wave of vertigo, and clawing at his pocket until he managed to tug it out. Part of it, anyway. He collapsed back onto the sofa, cradling the broken device against his chest, eyes squeezed tight against the burn of tears. He was such a fool. 

Yussa opened his mouth to speak and closed it again multiple times. 

"I think I need to leave Nicodranas." Essek said, his voice watery and thin as he tried to cut off the inevitable _what were you thinking, where did he find you, how could you do that._

"Where will you go?" No argument, no surprise. Just immediate acceptance that yes, that was probably for the best.

"Port Damali. The Cobalt Soul archive. They were going to help me meet with my brother." Essek sighed and pushed the butt of his palm against his forehead, willing away his headache. "And if the Nein do come back. Um. Then they'd at least know where to find me. If they even wanted to." 

Yussa nodded, "I will make sure they know where you've gone. Essek." His tone turned grave, "Do you remember what the Cerberus Assembly wants with you?"

Essek shook his head. Beyond what little Caleb had told him, he didn't even recognize the name. 

"I don't think you should be in the streets right now. That man will not have been the only one looking for you. You are staying at the Lavish Chateau, yes? I will arrange for your belongings to be transported to your ship."

"I don’t have a ship. We chartered one for the trip here."

"Then I will arrange one for you. Do you have anyone that can travel with you?"

Essek shook his head. He was alone. And it was entirely his own fault. 

"I'll see what I can do."

"I don't know how I can repay you for all this." 

"Don't worry about that for the moment. We can discuss recompense when you are secured. Now. Do you have anything else that you need to take with you?"

“The only thing that isn't in my room at the Chateau is the orrery."

"You can leave that here, if you like. I’ll send it with the Nein when they return."

If they returned. If they didn’t, it was useless to him anyway. Essek's head fell wearily against the arm of the couch. "Thank you."

"Rest now. I will rouse you when I have news."

His head throbbed and his ribs burned, and he felt a thousand tiny nicks and cuts that had at first been numbed by his terror. But the deepest, most gut-wrenching pain came every time he looked at the broken pieces of the gravimeter in his hands. He would either have to admit to Caleb and Veth that he had broken it, or they were gone forever and he had shattered his strongest tie to them in a fit of foolish, self destructive pique. Neither option was acceptable. Both options hurt like hell. 

Wensforth brought him a new tunic, loose enough that he didn't need to twist on painful ribs to slip into it. It was a fine thing, made of black silk with silver embroidery that tied around his waist with a purple sash. It was beautiful. He didn’t deserve it. 

There were no windows in the study, and the fire in the fireplace seemed enchanted to never dim, so the passage of time was nebulous. Essek floated on a cloud of hazy pain and self loathing.

Yussa finally reappeared in the sitting room, closing the door behind himself. “How are you feeling?” 

Essek grimaced. “Like shit.” 

Yussa did a sort of half shrug, acknowledging the assessment. “I have made contact with the Port Damali archive. They have two agents here in Nicodranas available to escort you, who will meet us here at the tower in a few hours. There is a large passenger vessel departing at dawn for Port Damali, your belongings will be on it by the time you get to the docks. Lady Lavorre has been informed of your imminent departure. You will be travelling under the name Farrow Tragan.” 

Essek grimaced. He had forgotten about Marion. “I am in your debt.” 

“Don’t worry about that for now.” 

Silence fell between them, and Yussa was already on his way to the door before Essek worked up the nerve to speak. To beg.

“Yussa?”

Yussa paused, hand outstretched for the knob. “Yes Essek?”

“If they do come back… Please don’t tell them what I did.” 

Yussa’s expression softened. He nodded once, the slightest dip of his chin, and swept out of the room.   
  


Wensforth brought two women into the sitting room, both clad in blue and grey. One Essek recognized as the dwarf from the Chateau. She waved at him with a warm smile that did nothing to improve his mood. The other woman looked half elven, so far as he could tell, and lingered next to the door with her arms crossed over her chest. She immediately reminded him of Beau. 

“Hey there Farrow,” the dwarf said, plopping down across from him and putting her muddy boots up on the polished coffee table, to Wensforth’s visible horror. Essek stared at her in confusion until he remembered that was supposed to be his new name. 

“I don’t think we were properly introduced last time. The name’s Agnes, that there is Moira.” The half elf waved. “Hear you’ve gotten yourself into a bit of a pickle.”

Essek had to wonder what she’d actually been told. He had many words, in a number of languages, to describe the absolute clusterfuck that he had brought upon himself. _Pickle_ was not one of them. “I suppose so,” he muttered. 

“That’s alright. Happens to the best of us. We’ll get you squared away."

\---

The ship was crowded with an unnerving explosion of bodies, and Essek found himself suspicious of anyone who dared wear long sleeves in his presence, waiting for the barest glimpse of tattoos. Moira was silent, and Agnes would not shut up. Though miserable and loud, the voyage, too, made a fool of him by passing uneventfully. 

\---

Essek spent a week with the Cobalt Soul, and he could almost imagine himself staying there in the long term. So long as he had a chaperone, Essek was allowed to lose himself in the archive stacks. He felt like he should have some sense of vindication being allowed back, given free reign without Beau breathing down his neck, like he should be researching everything he could find about himself and about Xhorhas. But now he couldn't muster the energy to care, weighed down by humiliation and the broken pieces of a gravimeter. 

He was desperate for resources to help him rebuild the device, the singular focus of fixing a problem numbing the shame of his failure. There was no hope of him reenchanting it without help, but if he could at least return it to Caleb and Veth in one piece, maybe they wouldn't think he was completely incompetent. If they came. He had to keep reminding himself that there was every likelihood they wouldn't. 

Someone tapped him on the shoulder, and Essek looked up to see Agnes smiling at him. He sighed, weary of her bottomless optimism. "What can I do for you?"

She gestured over her shoulder with a thumb. "You've got a visitor." 

Essek looked up, expecting to see someone from the Soul. A few individuals had come to him over the days since his arrival, hoping for information on Xhorhas, with questions on his condition, or asking about the _attack_ in Nicodranas. He had little to offer, and little patience with which to offer it. He'd thought they had realized that by now.

But instead he was greeted by a drab coat and a shock of red hair and his heart stopped. 

Caleb waved, grinning at him, "Hallo."

Essek scrambled to shove his gravimeter notes under the nearest book, and stood, hiding the papers with his body. "You're back." He said, and immediately regretted how surprised it sounded.

Caleb nodded, crossing the distance between them. He paused in consideration, before holding his hands wide in offer of an embrace. Which Essek absolutely did not deserve, but could not find it in himself to deny. He slumped against Caleb, burying his face against Caleb’s chest. _Caleb’s smell_. Caleb squeezed him tight in a hug that threatened to lift him off of the ground and made his still bruised ribs scream in protest. Essek ached to return the gesture, but was terrified that his affection might be spurned, so he stood with his hands limp at his sides basking in the sensation of Caleb’s presence. 

Caleb took a step back, but did not let go of Essek’s shoulders. He was beaming, and Essek never wanted to look at anything else again in his life. “My friend,” Caleb said, “I have a gift for you.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Holy cow, I am blown away by how much feedback the last chapter got! Thank you all so, so much for the kudos and the comments! I feel like this chapter is a little unpolished, and there's a boatload of dialogue, but my week was super busy, and I didn't want to leave you all hanging! Unbetaed, concrit and corrections welcome. <3 Thank you so much everybody. 
> 
> No new CWs this week!

Their time spent gazing at one another strained propriety and a creeping awkwardness settled in the pit of Essek’s stomach. That Caleb could touch him, Caleb could smile, Caleb could indulge without fear of recourse (Essek was weak, he knew he was weak, but he would never deny Caleb his casual affections), but Essek knew that if he did the same it would be too forward, too unwanted. He cleared his throat and stepped away, gaze falling to the floor. As Caleb dropped his hands from Essek’s shoulders, he noticed a strange mark on Caleb’s palm. It looked like a burn.

All worries of shared affections disappeared. Without thinking, Essek reached for Caleb’s hand. “What’s that?”

Caleb sidestepped Essek’s grab with a tight smile and quickly shoved his hand into his pocket. “What’s what?”

“On your hand. You’re injured.”

“Oh, it is nothing, just a scar. I had a little accident in the Sphere. Come, come. You want to see your gift, ja?” He gestured for Essek to follow with his free hand.

Essek did, desperately, even as his attention was momentarily distracted by Caleb’s injury. Apparently Caleb decided that was a conversation for another time. “I, yes. Just let me get my things?” He hurried back over to his workspace, shoving all of his notes together and into a folder where they would be safely hidden from prying eyes. 

“Of course,” Caleb said as Essek busied himself. “What are you working on?”

“Oh, noth-” Marion’s voice was like honey dripping in his ear, whispering _liar_. He grimaced, hating the sudden and unexpected guilt for that reared its ugly head and threatened to override the guilt for breaking the damn thing in the first place. “I… Had an accident too. Um. I broke the gravimeter. I’ve been trying to fix it.”

“Oh no! I am sure we can fix it together. But you are alright?”

“Mostly. Kind of. I’m sorry Caleb, I truly didn't mean to break it.”

“Do not worry, we will get it fixed up. We still have the second one, that will help.” Caleb urged Essek follow him as he turned to leave, utterly unphased by Essek’s roiling crisis, and the crippling guilt he had been harboring over the past week. 

Caleb never went too far ahead, brushing his arm against Essek’s shoulder, or gently leading him along with a hand at the small of his back. Each absent, fleeting touch searing Essek’s skin like a brand. Like the mark on Caleb’s hand. 

As Caleb led him from the archive proper into what looked to be largely office spaces, he turned to Essek. “So. Why are you here? Did you tire of Nicodranas?”

Was he just fishing for confirmation? Yussa hadn’t promised his silence, not _explicitly_. A nod could have meant anything. Or nothing at all. “What did Yussa tell you?” he asked, bracing for the worst.

“Just that you were visiting the archive in Port Damali.” Caleb certainly didn’t sound like he was harboring any simmering resentment for Essek's sleeping with, and subsequently almost being murdered by the enemy.

Essek let out a sigh of relief that he hadn’t realized he was holding. “The Soul has gotten in contact with my brother, I didn’t want to risk missing the meeting waiting for all of you when I didn't know how long it would take.” It was the explanation he had rehearsed over and over. (Not that he had rehearsed an explanation. Because it wasn’t like he had been expecting them to return, that would have been foolish.)

“That makes sense, but why stay here? Why not on the ship with all of your things?”

“I-” Essek had an easy lie ready, that it was less walking this way, but Marion’s voice lingered in his mind and, for some incomprehensible reason, made him hesitate. “I think I bumped into someone from the Cerberus Assembly.”

Caleb blanched, halting in his tracks and grabbing at Essek to do the same. “Are you alright? Who? What did they look like?”

“I’m fine. A little bruised, but. It was a, um. A tall human man. Broad, strong. He had tattoos on his arms.” He explained haltingly, careful to pick each word so as to not sound _too_ familiar.

If anything, Essek’s clarification only made Caleb more colorless. “What did his face look like? His eyes, his hair? Scars?”

Essek prayed that the burning heat in his cheeks didn’t translate into too obvious of a blush. “Um. He had a strong jaw, bit of a large nose. Brown hair, maybe to his chin at the longest? Dark eyes. I didn’t notice any scars, but I wasn’t really looking for them.”

Caleb gave him a hard once over, and for a brief, horrifying moment, Essek worried that he must have been completely transparent. That Caleb must _know_ , must _smell_ it on him. Must hate him for it. 

“What happened to him?” 

In Essek's mind a vision came unbidden of Yussa’s gaze, adamantine hard and forgefire hot, slaughtering a man without lifting a finger. “He’s dead.”

Caleb nodded, rubbing his face. “I’m glad you’re safe. We will keep an eye out for more. And we must focus on getting your powers back sooner than later. You need to be able to protect yourself when they find you again.”

“When?”

“Ja. When.” Like it was a foregone conclusion. 

They continued on in stony silence. Essek wondered if he should have lied after all.

Caleb led Essek to one of the office-like rooms. Inside, one wall was equipped with a rudimentary lab station. A table and chairs sat in the middle of the room, slightly crooked, none of them matching. Veth was there, holding a bright pink satchel. “Hey Essek! How’s it going?”

He forced himself to smile. “Ah. Well. I’ll be better if you have a beacon for me?”

A shit eating grin split across her face, and she waggled her eyebrows at him. “Maaaybe, what’s it worth to you?”

Essek’s heart sank. “Oh. I don’t. Er. I don’t know what-”

Veth waved her hand, “I’m just messing with you, relax. Here.” She stuck both arms into the bag, disappearing up to the shoulder, and pulled out a dimly glowing dodecahedron in a strange twisted metal frame. She held it up for him to see. “Check it out!” 

It was beautiful. He vaguely remembered seeing something similar in the bright room, just before he had been given to the Nein. Though his recollection had been muddled by pain, starvation and whatever magic had stolen his memories, for some reason it had stuck in his mind. He had not truly recognized the significance until this moment.

He glanced at Caleb, silently waiting for some kind of indication of how to proceed. Caleb held up his hands, that strange diamond shaped burn on his palm a stark contrast to his pale skin. Essek was desperate to touch it, this new mark. This thing that shouldn’t be. Realizing what Essek was staring at, Caleb shoved that hand back into his pocket and cleared his throat. 

Veth rolled her eyes and held the beacon out to Essek. “Ignore him. He got into an argument with a jewel and now he refuses to touch the beacon.”

Caleb smiled placatingly. “Go on. This is for you, not me.”

Essek plucked the beacon from Veth’s grip with the same ginger care one might use to pick up a child. The strange, glowing thing achingly familiar. He looked up. “So… what do we do with it?”

“Well,” Caleb said, taking a cautious step away from Essek once he had the beacon in his hands, “I don’t know if it will activate for you, but if you focus on it, ah. There is this, we call it a Fragment of Possibility. An opportunity to bend fate. It works once a day and then needs to be reactivated. Of course, Veth’s husband also has some…”

Caleb was still talking, but Essek turned his focus towards the device. Willing it to activate. Praying for _something_ to happen, for just one small break…  
  


 _Essek is floating in a sea of grey, star cradles in purple and blue twinkle in the distance. Stretching out before him are shining filaments, thousands, hundreds of thousands. An infinite spiderweb of dewy stars painting every possible future. But not behind him. Behind him is a black hole. A singularity of_ nothing _. The spiderweb burned away._

 _But that hardly matters because he is_ whole _. He is_ powerful _. He can pluck the stars from the heavens and bend them to his will. He can take the threads of the world and weave them between his fingers. He can rewrite the past. Harness the future. He can go anywhere, do anything. Be. Anyone. He laughs. A thousand burdens lifting from his shoulders all as one._

_Before him appears a mirror, woven out of starlight. He approaches it, and the face reflected back upon him is not his own. It is his mother’s. She stands before him, perfect, transcendent. Not in her Umavi finery, but in the mantle of the Shadowhand._

_Except that is not what he sees._

_He sees himself, draped in the white robes and circlet of the Umavi._

_Except that is not what he sees._

_He sees his father, in his ceremonial uniform, his medals all pinned to his chest._

_Except that is not what he sees._

_He sees himself, in black, angular armor, a sword piercing his gut._

_Except that is not what he sees._

_He sees himself, as a child, his legs in braces and a stolen book in his hands._

_Except that is not what he sees._

_He sees himself, as a man, sneaking two beacons out of Xhorhas and ruining his life._

_Essek reaches out to touch the mirror, but his hand is ephemeral, passing through it like smoke._

_“We did not know if you would come.”_

_Essek turns. Caleb stands behind him. Or a thousand Calebs. All familiar, all foreign. He is clad in the stunning formal robes, black like ink and the night sky, that he wore to the ball in Nicodranas. When everything fell apart. He is shimmering around the edges as his features shift from young to old to soft to hard to scarred to burned in a hazy nebula that hurts Essek’s eyes when he tries to focus on any one face for too long._

_“Caleb?”_

_“No. We are not Caleb.” They speak in Caleb’s voice. In his mother’s voice. His father’s voice. In the Queen’s voice. Yasha’s. Marion’s. Owain’s. A thousand voices all at once._

_“Who are you?”_

_They take a step towards Essek, and the nothing that should be ground shimmers and ripples like water beneath their feet. “We are the Light of Creation.”_

_Essek laughs. “That is not possible.”_

_“Why not? You have worshiped us your whole life.”_

_“I have_ denounced _the Luxon.”_

 _“You worship us more fervently than any Cleric of the Light. You dedicated your life, and your mind, and your soul to the worship of our power. You sacrificed the potential of_ thousands _in our name. And even fettered and diminished, you devote your life in search of us.”_

 _As they speak, Essek_ Sees _. One hundred and twenty years of life. Every moment his mind wandered to the secrets of dunamancy, every book, every scroll, every exasperated tutor and infuriated priest. Envious courtiers and a Queen that expected the world from a child. Treason and theft. Clandestine meetings behind enemy lines. Faces. So many faces. The faces of soldiers, Dynastic and Imperial, the faces of innocents. Yeza. Luc. So many faces. All of them disposable in the pursuit of his insatiable hunger._

_“No,” he says, arguing semantics for that is all that he has left to argue, “That was in search of Power. Of Understanding.”_

_“Call it what you will,” they reply, Caleb’s head tilting to the side in a strangely inhuman gesture, “The result is the same.”_

_“What is this? The punishment for my sins? What do you want from me?”_

_“We want you to come home.”_

_“I was banished from my home for the selfsame worship you now claim as your own!” The void that clings to Essek flares red and gold, shining hot amidst the blue grey starsea._

_“We do not speak of Xhorhas,” the Luxon says, spreading Caleb’s hands wide. “The will of mortals has torn you asunder. You seek reunification. We do as well.”_

_“What does that_ mean _?”_

_“A piece of you has already been given to the Light. But it is useless without the whole. We seek consecution.”_

_“I will not dedicate an eternity in service to a god I do not believe in!” Heat and light swell in a crescendo of fury around Essek. Caleb’s hair and Caleb’s robes whip around him in the burst of plasma, embers settling red hot on his skin and in his hair. Eating holes through flesh and fabric and exposing something impossibly bright beneath._

_“What do you not believe in?” The Luxon asks, approaching Essek and running Caleb’s knuckles over the back of Essek’s cheek. It is a strange sensation that stands the fine hairs at his temple on end, like neither of them is quite individual. Like when their essences touch, they are momentarily One, they are momentarily All. “We greet you plainly. So we must exist. We offer to heal you. So we must have power. We do not ask for names or labels or worship. Such is the stuff of mortals. We ask only for the passion you already possess.”_

_“So, what?” Essek asks, breaking the connection between them. Becoming himself once more. “I am consecuted and you give me back my memories, my magic? Just like that?”_

_“And more.” The Luxon presses forward once more, and Essek feels the heavy tug of gravity on his essence. “You are filled with so much potential Essek. A New Soul who could become Umavi, surpassing even your mother. Even the Bright Queen. More powerful than you could imagine.”_

_Visions fill the space around them. Essek again clad in white. The brightest, shining white. His robes glittering like stars. A crown upon his head wreathed in blinding light. The Luxon beacon in his hands, Exandria at his feet._

_Once Essek might have found this image seductive. Now he balks, horrified._

_“Or I could just leave this place now that I have my memories again.”_

_The visions dissolve away, leaving only the Luxon before him. “The part of yourself that you perceive as Past belongs to the Light. When you leave this place, it will not go with you.”_

_“You’re threatening me?”_

_“No.” The Luxon says blandly, “That is not our way.”_

_“If you are truly a god, you must surely have the power to restore me to how I was, regardless of my consecution. I don’t want to live forever. I don’t want more power. I just want me.”_

_“Yes. We could. But why should we?”_

_“Because it’s-” ‘the right thing to do’ is cut off. Since when was Essek concerned with the right thing? Only when it benefited him, when it was what_ he _wanted. He was selfish. His motives self serving from the start. Who is he to beg for mercy when he had never shown a shred of it in his life?_

_“Yes?”_

_“I need this. I need my magic. I need my memories.”_

_“And there are infinite potential futures where you have them. It is just a matter of if you experience one of those futures.”_

_Anger flares in Essek once more, “I can find a way to get it back without you. I don’t_ need _your permission.”_

_“It is not a matter of permission. It is a matter of Reality. You cannot make whole what does not exist. A part of you does not exist in your Reality. The archfey knows this. The goddess knows this. You can live without that part of yourself, but you cannot be whole. There is no spell. No god. No mortal. Nothing that will replace what you have lost but us. For it is with us beyond your Plane.”_

_“Why? Why does it belong to you? How did you get it?”_

_Essek is suddenly bound, his arms wrenched in either direction, though the electric pain in his arm is completely absent. The Luxon approaches him, weaving a gossamer spell between Caleb’s hands. They pluck a thread from Essek’s temple, and pull, and pull. The thread is like those thousand filaments spreading out before him. But as the Luxon pulls, the tapestry begins to unravel until the stars wink out and all that is left is black._

_The Luxon leans into Essek’s space, and kisses Essek with a press of Caleb’s lips to his forehead. Essek is free once more, and the Luxon speaks. “I pray the Light yet finds you, and helps you remove the mantle of darkness which you have chosen to wrap around your heart.”_

_It is the voice of the Luxon priest. Just before she took Essek’s memories from him. He lurches away from the Luxon with a distressed cry, and his shining stars return once more. “What about my magic? She wasn’t the one who took that.”_

_“No. She did not. Dunamis is the weave that holds together the tapestry of Reality. When your spirit was blocked, dunamis could neither enter nor escape. You are a vacuum. The space between stars. The essence of anti-magic. You cannot reconnect to the weave until you reconnect with yourself. You cannot reconnect with yourself until you reconnect with the Light.”_

_“And what if I try to leave without bowing to you? Will you strike me down? Trap me here?”_

_“That is not our way. You cannot achieve your potential stagnating in this place between places. If you leave, you will not be punished. But you will not be whole. You will continue as you are. That is your choice to make.”_

_“What if I took your offer, but then did not listen to you?”_

_“You ask if we would punish you?” Caleb’s head tilts to the side again, peculiar and not quite human._

_“I do.”_

_“That is not our way.”_

_“Then what_ is _? Why me? Why do you want me so badly?”_

_Around them, an eternity passes. A barren rock, struck by the stuff of stars. The birth of magic. Of life. The dawn of civilization. The invention of war. Empires rise and crash from the heavens. Gods wage war with men. A phoenix rises from the ashes. Life cycles on and on and on._

_“Once, people like you were called Magni Architecti, the Great Architects. You possess the will to change the world. With you, the possibilities are infinite. Knowledge of the Light has stagnated. You know this. You would change this. This is why we offer you this second chance.”_

_“I killed thousands! I ruined the lives of thousands more. That’s what you want?”_

_“No. Sacrifice of potential does not feed the Light. You understand this now.”_

_“Then what does? What feeds the Light?”_

_“Consecution.”_

_“And you would, what, have me preach the glory of the Light? Seek out as many converts as possible?”_

_“No.” The Luxon sighs with Caleb’s lungs. “We have said this before. We do not seek religion. We seek unification. Consecution is the means to this end.”_

_“I don’t understand.”_

_“You do not need to.”_

_“I don’t deserve this. Consecution is. Is for better people than me.”_

_“According to whom?”_

_Essek looks to where the mirror had once stood. To his people. To what were once his people._

_“What do you deserve?” The Luxon presses. The legion is gone. Only Caleb’s voice speaks to him now._

_“Death.” Essek knows this without a shadow of a doubt. The world would be a better place without him in it. He would not weigh down his friends. He would not endanger them. His mistakes would never hurt another soul._

_“Then your potential would be wasted just as those whose potentials you wasted before.”_

_“You don’t--” Essek needs to leave, but realizes there is no exit in the vast expanse. “I need to think. How do I get out of here?”_

_“You allow yourself to leave. Remember Essek. You will recall this conversation, but your past stays with us.”  
  
_

The claws of claustrophobia clutched at Essek’s essence and for a few, terrifying moments, he thought he could never leave.

Then he opened his eyes. 

He was back. In the room with the laboratory and the mismatched chairs. His body hurt. He had no magic. There was a great void where his past should have been. He remembered a mirror, but only his own reflection. He remembered the Luxon taking Caleb’s form, offering him consecution. He remembered turning down the offer.

“You’re back!” Caleb’s chair fell over in his haste to disentangle from it. Veth was nowhere to be seen. “Are you alright? You have been frozen for two hours.” 

It felt like he had not even been gone twenty minutes.

“I’m. I saw something. I don’t know what it was.”

Caleb hovered awkwardly just out of reach, taking stock of Essek’s appearance, eyeing the beacon with suspicion but refusing to touch it, or Essek with it. “Do you have your powers back? Your memories?”

“No.”

Caleb visibly wilted. “Oh.”

“But I know how to get them back.”

“Really? How?”

Essek hesitated, looking down at the beacon in his hands. Was it even worth saying if he wasn’t going to do it? “I need to be consecuted.”

Caleb frowned. “But that’s impossible. You cannot go back to Xhorhas.”

Oh, if getting to Xhorhas was the greatest of Essek’s problems. He laughed tiredly. “Apparently it’s not impossible.”

Unwilling to approach Essek and with nothing else to do with his hands, Caleb took to pacing the room. “But. Essek. What does that mean?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why must you be consecuted?”

“I don’t know! Because that’s what it, _they_ , want.”

Caleb stopped. “They?”

And here was where Essek sounded like a madman. He sighed, bracing himself for Caleb’s disbelief. “The… Luxon. _Apparently_.” 

Caleb blinked. Once. Twice. Three times. “Wow. Uh. And… I take it you do not want this?”

“No! I don’t want to spend all eternity serving some esoteric god, Caleb.” The visions of him wreathed in starlight, wielding the beacon like judgement were burned into his mind and chilled his soul. He dared not voice them aloud. If speaking of a god made him sound mad, then speaking of unstoppable power made him sound as evil as everyone seemed to think he was. 

“I see…” It was easy to mark the exact moment Caleb’s mind shifted into problem solving mode, a deep furrow settled between his brows, and his hand would not stop gesticulating as if he was weaving some unseen spell. “Well. We can do some more research. We have the beacon now, we can run some tests. This is just a temporary setback.”

Essek shook his head. “I don’t think so. They said there was only one way. That I am… That there is a part of me that already belongs to them, and to be whole I must be willing to give up the rest.”

“So you would be like Jester and Caduceus?”

Essek slammed the beacon down on the table, suddenly sick of holding it and all its ugly _potential_. The sound it made was dull and hollow in his ears. “I don’t know, Caleb! I don’t know! I don’t have answers for you.”

“I’m sorry Essek. I didn’t mean to push. I just…” Essek could see the conflict in his eyes. Caleb had been unguarded in his earnest desire for results, and here Essek was denying them when they were right in front of him. 

“Caleb. Can I ask you something?”

“Of course. Anything.” Without the beacon as a barrier between them, Caleb returned to his side, his expression earnest. 

“You said you would only talk about _us_ when I got my memories back. What if I don’t? What if I decide not to?”

“I… but what about your magic?”

As if his magic was the most important thing. Or. Maybe it _had been_. But he couldn’t help but feel like it wasn’t any longer. “Is it worth it if I have to sell my soul to do it?”

“I don’t know,” Caleb said, scratching his arm, “That is not how my magic works. Perhaps speak with the clerics? And Fjord, he has. Ah. Some experience with entities.”

“Maybe. But you didn’t answer my question.”

Caleb sighed, wrapping his arms across his chest and hunching in on himself. “I don’t have an answer. I will have to think about it.”

Fighting to push down a stab of hurt and anger, Essek turned to leave. He was content to abandon the beacon on the table. If Caleb wanted it moved he could figure out how to do it himself. “I await your convenience then.”

Caleb grabbed him by the forearm. “Essek, _wait_ . I just. Something happened. Between us. You… hurt me. Very badly. And I want this, _gods_ , do I want this, but. There’s still this _thing_ and it still hurts me. And I feel like I need something from you that you can’t give me if you don’t remember.”

“I hurt you?”

“Not physically. Not like that. But you lied to me. And, Essek. You were one of the first people that I- I trusted you. And I want to trust you again. I do. But I need you to understand too. And I don’t think you can if you don’t remember. I don’t think me telling you will be the same.”

Maybe this is what Yeza had meant, when he’d said Essek’s lies would only hurt himself. Essek couldn’t even remember what lie he had told and it hung over him like a dirge. “I don’t understand.”

Caleb smiled sadly, “I’m not saying no. I’m saying I need to think.”

Essek nodded and left. This time, Caleb let him.

\---

Uneasy about peering back into the beacon, irritated at the lack of alcohol on the Cobalt Soul campus, and restless waiting for his brother’s imminent arrival, Essek reluctantly took Caleb’s advice and sought out the counsel of the Nein’s divine casters. Unlike Essek, the rest of the Nein were staying on the Heroez (or, that’s what they were telling Essek anyway, he suspected they were actually using Caleb’s extradimensional tower, and didn’t want Essek to know). So it took him the better part of the week to catch each of them alone long enough to talk. 

He found Jester first, sneaking little golden dicks onto the shrine to Ioun next to other, more earnest oblations. 

“Jester?” 

She jumped, shoving her contraband behind her back until she saw who was calling to her. Deeming Essek to be an unlikely snitch, she proudly held up another dick for his inspection. “Essek, hi! How are you! Is the beacon being super duper helpful?”

“Ah... Sort of. I was actually wondering if I could speak to you about that.” He hadn’t anticipated having the conversation surrounded by erections. But at this point, he supposed he shouldn’t be surprised.

“Sure!” She looked around to ensure he was the only witness to her prank and gestured for him to hurry with her away from the scene of the crime. “So what’s up?”

Essek rubbed his forehead. He was regretting this conversation before he even worked up the nerve to open his mouth. “Your… god, Artagan? Has he ever asked you to do something you didn’t want to?”

“Welllll. He’s not a god _technically_. But he’s my best friend. Best friends don’t do that.” She stated with all the confidence of someone who believed this to be the most obvious thing in the world. Not an utterly foreign concept. 

“You’ve never doubted him?”

“I mean. There was the whole Travelercon thing. But we figured that out.”

Travelercon. Why did nothing about Jester make sense. “What happened? May I ask?”

“He just got kind of overwhelmed, you know? He was super freaking out about all of his “god responsibilities” and stuff, and he needed my help getting back to how things used to be when it was just the two of us. And at first I was kind of worried that he was going to hurt some people. Not, you know, like ha ha hurt. But _really_ hurt. Because that’s not funny. He didn’t though. We ended up pissing off a real goddess though and she came down and was like: ‘Raaaaar don’t pretend to be meeeee.’ And she was totally going to drag him back to the Feywild to like. Go to archfey prison or whatever. But he said he was really super duper sorry and he wouldn’t do it again.”

Essek did not understand half of what came out of Jester’s mouth, and was more than a little leery of asking for clarification. “What would happen if he did tell you to do something, and you didn’t want to?”

Jester shrugged, unperturbed by the prospect. “I dunno. He might, like. Draw a dick on my face while I sleep or something. I trust him though. I don’t think he’d ask me to do something like that.”

Essek sighed. This wasn’t helpful. He was already past the point of being asked to do something he had no desire to do. 

“Why?” She asked, cutting through his thoughts. 

“I’m… conflicted. I don’t want to be a burden anymore. I want people to be willing to talk to me about my past. But I don’t like the idea of dedicating myself to a power like that for the rest of eternity.”

“What do you mean?”

“There is something. A god, a being, I don’t know. Something. Inside the beacon. And they say that they have the power to fix me. But they want me to be consecuted before they will do it.”

Jester halted, biting her lip. He was left nearly tripping over himself in his haste to stop with her. “Aren’t you already consecuted?”

“...What?” Of all the various peculiar aspects of his explanation, that was what bothered her? 

“You told us you were already consecuted. That’s how the fancy Xhorhassians go into the beacons when they die, right?”

“Yes, that’s correct, but. I am not consecuted.”

“Oh.” Jester’s expression lost some of its light for the span of one heartbeat to the next, before the shadow was gone and she was back to her usual bubbly self. “Well, if you don’t want to do it, then don’t do it.”

“But then I’m stuck like _this_.” Essek gestured down at himself with a disparaging grimace. 

“You’re still you. Even without your powers and stuff. You’re still super cool and smart and the best baking buddy ever.”

Essek smiled sadly. “I know I can’t stay with you all like this. It’s not sustainable.”

Jester waved her hand dismissively. “We can figure it out! You can stay with my Momma sometimes too, she likes you a lot, you know.”

“That’s not living, Jester. I need a _life_. I need-” He cut himself off before he said something stupid.

“You need what, Essek?” She asked, voice suddenly very gentle.

He stared at his feet. “I assume you know that I, ah. Have feelings. For Caleb.”

“Oh Eeeeessssseeeeeek!” Jester let out a positively ear piercing squeal, her smile so incandescent, he thought her cheeks might actually burst. She threw herself at him and wrapped her limbs around him like an overenthusiastic limpet. Essek’s knees creaked precariously under the additional weight 

Essek grimaced, immediately regretting this god awful honesty and wishing he could sink into the floor. Nothing was worth this humiliation. “I don’t think I’m going to have a chance with him unless I accept the Luxon’s offer.”

“Essek?” Jester’s voice had mercifully fallen back out of the whistle register. She released him from her vice grip, but was still bouncing excitedly on the balls of her feet. 

“Yes, Jester?” He asked, bracing himself for some uselessly saccharine piece of relationship advice. 

“You gotta trust your heart. Do what feels right, not what you think other people want you to do.” Jester looked meaningfully down one end of the hall, and then the other. She leaned in, cupping her hand against the corner of her mouth, as if to shield her lips from unseen prying eyes, “Even if you think they’re super hot and you totally want in their pants.”

Essek laughed, surprised, and saw in that moment that this was undeniably Marion’s daughter. “Thank you, Jester.”

Satisfied that her sage advice would be taken to heart, Jester promised to keep their conversation to herself. This was even as she proved physically incapable of _not_ smiling at Essek, leaving him dubious of her ability, if not her willingness. She also promised that she would let both Caduceus and Fjord know that he was hoping to speak with them, whenever they had the chance to come over to the archive. And then she dragged him to lunch with her, as if nothing at all had changed.

\---

Veth and Caleb had dedicated their days to studying the beacon. Veth begged Essek to join them, so that she might have another pair of hands willing to handle the device. Any time Caleb accidentally wandered too close to it he would sidestep like a skittish colt, and it was driving her, as she had said, positively up the wall. Essek was not nearly so leery of the beacon itself, but there was an aura of gravitas that hung around it, reminding him of a power greater than himself. Watching. Waiting. So instead of the lab, he promised to aid in their research from the archive.

The next day, while Essek was hunting unsuccessfully for information on the Luxon, Fjord poked his head around a bookcase, rapping his knuckles on it to signal his arrival. Engrossed in his third useless book of the day, Essek jumped at the sound, swearing under his breath. Fjord had the decency to look abashed. “You were looking for me?”

“Ah, yes. Could I speak with you?”

“Suuure…” Fjord glanced behind himself, and then down the aisle past Essek’s table, shifting in discomfort as if debating whether to point out that they were already speaking. “What about?”

“Gods?” Essek asked, holding up his book for Fjord to see. 

“Uh, wow. That’s a bit of a heavy topic. I imagine Caduceus might be better suited.”

“I plan to speak to him too. But I wanted your thoughts as well.” Essek put the book back down on the table, and gestured for Fjord to join him. Instead, Fjord lingered behind his chair, putting Essek on edge even though all the half-orc was doing was looking at the various titles strewn across the table. 

“Why?” 

“You have served two gods, yes?”

Fjord waggled one hand in the air in a non-committal so-so motion, that Essek could just make out in his periphery. “Sort of. I don’t think one really counts as a god.”

Essek turned to peer up at Fjord, when he made no obvious motion to sit. “The one you left for the Wildmother, you mean?”

Fjord nodded, expression tight, pained, like he was reliving some unpleasant memory. Essek wondered if his own features were so plain in their discomfort. “That would be the one.”

“What’s it like?”

“Which part?”

“All of it?”

Fjord frowned, finally taking the chair opposite Essek. He picked up one of Essek’s books and started leafing through it with unguarded apathy. “What’s brought on the sudden theological interest? I was under the impression that wasn’t really your wheelhouse.”

“In the beacon I was given an… opportunity. To regain my power, and my memories. But I would be expected to bind myself to this entity. This _god_. I don’t know what it is, exactly. But it wants me to consecute myself.”

“I thought you said you were already consecuted.”

Essek sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “No. Sorry. I lied. Apparently.”

“I assume since you are here, talking with me and not out crushing people with your mind, you did not accept the offer?” Fjord closed his fist in what Essek assumed to be a pantomime of something being crushed. Which was new. He hadn’t heard any stories about mind-crushings in the catalogue of his vague but numerous sins. One more thing to file away for later. 

“Not yet, no.”

“Why not?” 

“I don’t know. I suppose I want to make sure I’m not making a mistake. Why did you leave your first god?”

“Our interests didn’t align anymore,” Fjord said, in such a way as to imply that was a significant understatement, “Uk’otoa saved my life. But then he asked too much in return.”

“What if this entity is the same way?”

“Do you have reason to believe that it is?” 

Blinding stars and power and _eternity_. How could he explain? How could he explain to someone who had not seen? He couldn’t. So he didn’t. He changed the subject. “You are happy now, yes? With the Wildmother?”

“Yeah.” Fjord smiled, a crooked quirk of the corner of his mouth pulling his lip taught over one of his tusks, “Yeah. I am.”

“Would she do that to you? Hold your life hostage if you did not do what she asked?”

Fjord thought for a moment before answering, “I don’t think so, no.”

“And the one before?”

“He did, actually. He took my powers from me when I stopped listening to him.”

So the question was whether the Luxon was more like the Wildmother, or the creature that drove Fjord to her. The answer was… He wasn’t sure. “Are my past and my magic worth the risk of serving something that is willing to do that?”

Fjord scratched the nape of his neck, the rasp of his claws like sandpaper amid the pervasive silence of the archive. “Iiii don’t think I’m qualified to answer that question.”

“What would you do if I didn’t do it?”

“How do you mean?”

“I know that you don’t want me here.” Essek clarified, as hard and challenging as he had been when he’d heard as much aboard the ship. “I know I’m a burden. If I throw this opportunity away, I’m never going to be anything more than a liability.”

“Now, that’s. I don’t think that’s-” Fjord sighed, collecting his thoughts. “I’m sure we could figure something out. Even if you weren’t out there working with us, we wouldn’t abandon you.”

Essek nodded in grim understanding. There was no place for him with these people if he had no powers. He would stay with Marion, as Jester had suggested. Or the Soul. Or he might arrange something with Yussa if he played his cards right, and had not alienated the poor man beyond any hope of repair. But not with the Nein. It made sense, as much as he wished it didn’t. He was dangerous to keep around, and had nothing to offer in exchange for the trials of his upkeep. “I understand,” he said, pushing himself to his feet. “Thank you for your time.” He left Fjord alone with his books, too tired to deal with either anymore.

\---

Caduceus was infuriatingly popular. It seemed wherever Caduceus went, someone was tagging along. Happily chatting, or content to linger in comfortable silence. Which was fine. Enviable even. But did nothing to help Essek. And Caduceus never excused himself, simply invited Essek over to join whatever conversation was already happening. And Essek didn’t like the odds of a group conversation staying under his control. If he was to have any hope of answers, it needed to be alone.

So when Essek _finally_ caught sight of Caduceus wrapping up a conversation with Beau, he all but pounced on the man when it was clear Beau was going the opposite direction. Nevermind the abject horror he would no doubt have experienced had any of the Nein approached himself in anything resembling the same fashion. “Caduceus! Can I ask you something?”

“Sure!” Caduceus said, smiling amiably, “What can I do for you?”

“You serve the Wildmother, yes?”

Caduceus nodded, his pink curls bobbing with the ponderous motion. “Yup, sure do.” 

Essek supposed he shouldn’t be having a conversation of this gravity in the middle of the hallway where Beau might come back at any moment. But he had no idea how long he could keep Caduceus’s company without interruption, and he didn’t want to waste it finding suitable accommodations. He was feeling impulsive, reckless even. And if Beau wanted to reappear to argue theology with him, he found himself in a mood to indulge her. “Do you ever resent being subservient to such a being? Does she force you to do things that you don’t want to?” 

“Oh, uh. I think you’ve gotten it a bit backwards.” Caduceus said, twirling his finger in a spiral. “I’m not forced to do anything. It’s an honor to serve someone you believe in, that you believe is important.”

Essek realized with some embarrassment that, in his enthusiasm, he’d rushed far too near to Caduceus’s rangy bulk, and he had to take a few steps backwards to properly make eye contact with the firbolg. “So you don’t think she’d ever tell you to do something that you did not want to do?”

“I don’t think she’d ask me to do something that I don’t _believe_ in,” Caduceus corrected, hunching a bit in commiseration. “She’s asked me to do things that make me a little uncomfortable plenty of times. But that’s how you grow. Being a little uncomfortable.”

“What if you decided you didn’t want it anymore?”

“The Wildmother is love. If I wasn’t happy in her service, I think she would want me to be happy, even if it wasn’t with her.”

For a brief, bitter moment, Essek nursed what he knew was a petty jealousy that all of these people could be so infuriatingly content in their servitude. Could make him feel so irrational and unreasonable for not wishing it for himself. “Are all true gods like that?” 

“Well, I don’t serve all gods, so I wouldn’t know.”

“Caduceus. If I had the chance to get everything back, but it meant serving a power that I don’t… I don’t know if I’m ready to serve. Should I do it?”

“Hmm. I guess that depends. Are you not sure in the ‘this is new and scary’ sort of way, or the ‘this feels like a bad idea’ sort of way?”

Essek hadn’t considered there being a distinction between the two. “I’m not certain.”

Caduceus nodded again, as if he’d untangled some great mystery, while Essek only felt more muddled. “Well, maybe that’s a place to start then, huh?”

“Perhaps. Thank you, Caduceus.” Essek stood there, his excitement worn off and suddenly feeling terribly awkward. 

“Always happy to help. Is there... anything else I can do for you?” Caduceus probed, peering down at him with those unfathomable eyes, always seeming to see everything that Essek wished he wouldn’t. 

“Well.” Essek cleared his throat, “If I didn’t do this. If I didn’t get my powers back. What do you think would happen? With the Nein, I mean. I wouldn’t be able to stay with you, right?” He already knew the answer, asking for it to be explained to him a third time was just an exercise in masochism. But maybe he was a little bit of a masochist.

Caduceus cocked his head to the side, “Would you want to?”

That was not the answer Essek had expected, “Come again?”

“Are you happy here, with us? Or do you think you’d be happier if your path led you somewhere else?” 

Essek hadn’t considered that. “I thought I wanted to leave. When you all left me. Now I’m not so sure.” 

“Did you miss the action, do you think? Or the people?”

Not the action. Absolutely not. But he wasn’t ready to admit to the alternative. He shrugged evasively. “I did not miss being attacked by sea monsters.”

Caduceus laughed fondly, “Yeah, me neither. Well. I know most of us have people who are special to us that don’t come adventuring with us. It doesn’t mean we love them any less.”

“And if I did want to stay with you? I cannot contribute as I am. What then, when I become too much of a burden?”

“Your worth isn’t measured by your abilities, Essek. It’s what’s in here.” He gently poked at Essek’s chest. “If you really want to stay, I’m sure we’ll figure something out.”

Caduceus made it sound so simple. And Essek had to struggle not to argue how naive his suggestion was. Even if Caduceus was willing to just ‘figure it out’, there was no way he could convince the rest to do the same. Essek admired Caduceus’s gentle optimism, and couldn’t deny that his easy acceptance filled Essek with something dangerously akin to hope. But it was unrealistic. 

Caduceus must have expected some kind of response, because he plopped his massive hand on Essek’s shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. Essek frowned up at him. 

“Getting along with people is hard,” Caduceus said without preamble, “No god is going to make it any easier. Power, magic, none of that makes it any easier. Just practice.”

“Well. You said it yourself. You don’t serve all gods,” Essek replied, more bitterly than Caduceus deserved. “Thanks for your time.”

\---

Armed with more information on the Nein’s outlook, but little insight into his own decision, Essek hunted Caleb back down. He felt like he couldn’t make a decision in good conscience without knowing what Caleb would do if he refused. If Caleb would accept it, good, fine, he could move forward knowing it was based solely on his own desire. If Caleb wouldn’t accept it, well. He wasn’t sure what he’d do. 

Veth was grumbling at Caleb when he entered their makeshift lab. Something about Yeza’s research and extracting dunamis. How Caleb was holding them back. They both fell into awkward silence as soon as they noticed Essek lingering in the doorway. He apologized for interrupting, but didn’t miss the grateful glance Caleb shot him, freed temporarily from Veth’s scrutiny. Veth, on the other hand, took the opportunity to excuse herself, fed up with their lack of progress. 

“Maybe you can talk some sense into him,” she said as she stormed past Essek, her shoulder bumping into his hip on her way out. 

Essek shuffled past her stormy wake. Caleb gestured for him to take a seat at the table with him. “My savior,” Caleb joked. “I do not know what I would have done if you had not arrived.”

“Is everything alright?” Essek asked, taking the seat next to Caleb and inspecting the room. The table was covered in diagrams, most of them variations on dodecahedrons. Some had red ink outlining alterations or corrections. Most of the equations were familiar from their work with the gravimeters, but some he had never seen before. It took him a few long moments to tear his eyes away. There was a chair pushed up to the counter for the lab equipment, and the beacon was perched upon a tripod, the twisted metal frame nowhere to be seen. 

“Everything is fine,” Caleb said with a forced smile. “Just a little procedural disagreement.” The hand with the mark on it was hiding underneath the table, safely out of view.

“Is this because of the, ah, argument with the… jewel?” Essek could only guess what that truly meant. But the mark on Caleb’s hand was geometric in shape, and could certainly have been caused by a large gem. If gems were in the habit of burning things. 

Caleb scoffed. There was far too much bluster in the dismissal. “I am handling it. Don’t worry about all that. What did you need?”

Essek realized with some irritation this must be what the others felt like when he lied to them. He wanted to peel the conversation open with a sharp knife and excise the truth from behind Caleb’s too perfect smile. But there was little point in arguing about it now. When Caleb still felt spurned by whatever Essek’s own deception had been. “Have you thought anymore about what it would mean if I didn’t go through with the consecution?”

“A little.” Caleb said, the tight line of his shoulders not relaxing in the slightest by the change in subject. 

“And..?”

“I do not think it is a good idea.”

“I don’t know that I want to live forever, Caleb,” Essek said, “Even if it means being with you.”

Caleb scratched at his forearm. “You wouldn’t have to live forever, you know.”

“What?”

“Even if you were consecuted, if you did not die near a beacon, you would not be reincarnated.” There was something tactical and cold in Caleb’s suggestion that surprised Essek. That felt foreign and ugly. He wasn’t sure what to make of it. Regardless, that sounded like the exact sort of bad faith promise that might incur the wrath of an angry god.

“Why does this matter to you so much?”

“Because I want you _back_ Essek!” Caleb slammed a fist down on the table, and Essek lurched back in a flash of panic, his chair wobbling precariously before righting itself. He clutched a hand over his rabbit quick heart.

“I’m right _here_.”

“But you’re not. Essek. It’s not the same. You’re not the same.”

“How? How am I not the same?”

“Because you are an innocent! You are not bowed low under the weight of your sins like you were. Like I _still_ am. You do not deserve my anger for a slight you did not commit, yet I suffer it for you!”

It was Essek’s turn to lash out, lurching to his feet with fists clenched at his sides. Caleb did not so much as blink. “Who’s fault is that! Who’s fault is it Caleb? That I don’t know who I was. Because it isn’t fucking mine. I’ve told you where I stand. I’ve told you what I want. I’ve done what you asked. I’ve- I’m _scared_ Caleb. This is so big, and so fast, and. I don’t think that I’m ready for this.”

“I am scared too, Essek! I am scared of losing you again. I am scared of losing you for good. You are so, so vulnerable. And terrible, terrible people want to take you away from me. And I cannot protect you all the time! I left you and you almost died. _Again_. Every time I leave, you almost die! And I can’t stand it. I need to know you’re safe.” Caleb unfurled from his chair with military precision. He took Essek’s face in his hands, and Essek thought, for one very, very brief moment, that he was going to kiss him. Instead he pressed their foreheads together, his fingers digging into Essek’s hair. Essek squeezed his eyes shut, hands closing around Caleb’s forearms, holding him there. 

“Maybe it’s better if I’m just not here.” Essek whispered, just loud enough for the space between them.

“Where else would you go?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Weren’t you _listening_? That’s not acceptable!” Caleb gently jostled Essek’s skull between his hands, his breath hot on Essek’s face. 

“I’m tired. Caleb,” Essek said, squeezing Caleb’s arms. “I’m tired of just being this thing you protect. I don’t _want_ protection! I want us to be a _team_. And if you won’t let that happen unless I change for you then maybe this isn’t going to work!” His own words struck him ice cold as soon as he said them. He didn’t mean to say that. He didn’t mean that. A thousand panicked thoughts ran through his brain, ways to spin it, to take it back. His heart broke as he felt Caleb’s hands slipping from his hair, he didn’t have the strength to release his grip on Caleb’s wrists, even though he knew he should. Caleb didn’t make him.

“Essek,” The way Caleb said his name made something painful twist in his chest, “I want us to be a team too. But I just don’t see how it's possible _unless_ things change.”

“Fine. You want things to change?” Essek looked down between them and tangled their hands together. He could feel the shape of the scar against his palm. “Leave the Nein. We’ll hide away where no one can find us, not even the Cerberus Assembly. We’ll be safe.”

“You know I can’t do that.” Caleb said, his voice cracking in misery.   
  
“Why?”

“Because there are more important things in this world than my happiness!”  
  
Essek released Caleb’s hands, but did not pull away when Caleb continued to cling to his. “I suppose that’s why it’s so easy for you to suggest I take the Luxon’s bargain, isn’t it?”

“What?”

“You see happiness as an acceptable sacrifice in pursuit of _duty_.” He spat the word like it was something ugly. Something ruinous. 

“That’s not--” Caleb sighed, his shoulders sagging, the fight gone out of him. “Maybe you’re right.”

Essek must have heard him incorrectly. “What?”

“I said. Maybe you are right. Maybe I need to-” Caleb released Essek’s hands, and looked down at the diamond shaped mark on his palm. “Maybe I need to change too.” He looked back up at Essek. “It is not fair to expect you to do all the work.”

“So. You’ll…” Essek dared not put into words what he hoped that confession meant. “What? What does that mean?”

“I’ll try. If you truly do not wish to be consecuted, I will. I will try.”

“And… we’ll talk?” 

Caleb smiled at him. It was sad and terribly tired, but it was real. Not the ugly, stilted mask he had been hiding behind. Essek tried to school his features, to hide his own incandescent glee, but found himself utterly betrayed by a shy, creeping grin of his own. 

Caleb nodded, “Ja. Let me get myself sorted first. But then we can talk.”

Essek could live with that.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY GUYS. This has been a hell of a week, and it was either write, or give myself an ulcer stressing out! So posting a day early. :) Thank you everyone for your continued support, your thoughtful comments, and your kudos! They mean so much, and I absolutely wouldn't be able to do this without your support. Unbetaed, concrit and edits/fixes welcome. <3 
> 
> Edit: I forgot to mention! I absolutely LOVED everyone's unique thoughts on the Luxon and what "old" vs "new" Essek might do!! Seeing all the different interpretations was so fantastic. 
> 
> CW: Fantasy racism and slut shaming
> 
> There's some German/Zemnian in this chapter, but I'm keeping the translations for the post-chapter notes because they're spoilery.

Eight days after the Nein returned to Port Damali, Agnes barreled her way into the lab and loudly informed Essek of his brother’s arrival, heedless of Caleb and Veth’s bemused looks, or the vial of extremely corrosive acid in Essek’s hand. 

Anxiety flared in his gut, and Essek was certain that he was going to be sick. He wished, suddenly and acutely, for something to drink. Anything. Except maybe not the acid he was holding (but only _maybe_ not). 

This was a bad idea. A terrible idea. What had he been thinking agreeing to meet this man? Should he change? Dress up? None of his clothes were of a Xhorhassian cut. Would Verin mind? Would it be weird? Should he bring a gift? He has nothing to give. What if the reason he had told no one about Verin was because he hated Essek, and had come to finish the job Xhorhas had started? What if it wasn’t actually Verin, but an infiltrator, some spy sent to mete out overdue justice? He couldn’t breathe. This was a mistake. 

Agnes tugged on his sleeve and manic laughter bubbled up from his chest unbidden. “This was a mistake,” he repeated aloud.

Agnes squinted at him, “You just said that.”

Oh. “Well, it is.”

“It is not,” She said, exasperated, “He’s excited to see you. C’mon.” Without waiting to see if he was following, she sauntered from the room, leaving Essek to his crisis and the dubious support of Caleb and Veth. 

Caleb gently pried the vial from Essek’s hand. “Do you want company? I would be happy to go along as, you know. Support?” 

As nice as it sounded to have a witness to his potential assassination, having a witness to his vomiting all over a brother that he couldn’t even remember sounded less appealing. Essek shook his head, not trusting his voice. 

“If he’s an asshole, we’ll kill ‘em!” Veth said helpfully. 

Essek buried his face in his hands. “Please don’t.” He said, throat like sandpaper. 

Agnes’s face reappeared in the doorway. “No murdering on the Soul campus, please and thank yooou,” she chirped, “Essek, come on. You were so excited about this a couple weeks ago!” 

Not heeding Agnes’s warning, Veth produced a knife from… somewhere, and grinned ominously up at Essek. Essek had no idea where it came from, or why she seemed to think it constituted viable emotional support. Though, he supposed, he should be grateful. She certainly didn’t _have_ to offer unsolicited fratricide. 

Caleb turned him so that they were facing properly, the heavy weight of his grip on Essek’s shoulders grounding. He plucked a pearl from his component pouch and held it between them for Essek to see, then placed it to Essek’s forehead, murmuring a soft incantation. 

Essek recognized the spell from Caleb’s spellbook, but didn’t understand why he would waste it on him. “You know that isn’t going to do anything,” he said, frowning. 

Caleb winked at him, patting his cheek. “Sure it will. Now go on. You can do this.” 

Essek slunk from the room, his head hung low. Agnes was leaning on the wall just next to the door, waiting. She looked up at him, “You ready?”

“No.” He mumbled. “But let's get this over with.”

\---

Essek expected to be led to a meeting room, or an office, or maybe even some kind of cell. Instead he was taken to another one of the guest rooms, just a few doors down from his own. Agnes knocked on the door without preamble, and Essek was halfway turned to flee back to the safety of his own quarters when she wordlessly grabbed his forearm, anchoring him in place. 

The door swung open almost immediately, as if whomever was inside had been waiting for Agnes’s knock. It was like looking in a mirror, Essek thought. If the mirror made him taller, broader, and younger. Even though he did not recognize the man who stood before him, he recognized his own features in him. He assumed, with another wave of nauseating anxiety, that there was no one this could be but Verin. Unable to think of anything more productive to do through the ringing void in his ears, he stared up at his brother. Verin stared back, as if he could hardly believe what he was seeing.

Essek opened his mouth to introduce himself, but Verin gathered him into his arms and squeezed the air from his lungs before he could speak. Verin was crying, Essek realized as wetness dampened his hair. He tentatively wrapped his own arms around Verin’s back, overwhelmed by the display of affection, and shaken by an obligation to respond, his anxiety worsening the longer he was crushed under the weight of this man’s foreign affection. He wasn’t sure how long they stood there, Essek struggling with claustrophobia and Verin struggling to let him go. Long enough that, when they pulled apart, Agnes had gone.

“ _I thought you were dead._ ” Verin said, unwilling to let go of Essek’s arms, seemingly for fear that he might disappear once more. 

“ _I was supposed to be_.” Essek responded, slipping into Undercommon without thinking. 

“ _No, I mean-_ ” Verin cut himself off, and looked down the hallway. He stepped back into his room, gesturing for Essek to join him. He closed the door behind them (Essek watched warily to ensure it was not locked). “ _You were executed, Essek. I was at your incremation.”_

 _“Can you tell me why?_ ” 

Verin looked so unbelievably _sad_ , Essek couldn’t understand what in his question could have possibly warranted such an expression. “ _Why did I go to your funeral? By the Light, Essek. I know things haven’t been the best between us, but-”_

 _“No,”_ Essek interrupted, realizing the confusion, _“Why was I executed? Or, supposed to be executed, rather?”_

Verin stepped away to more properly assess Essek, brow furrowed in confusion. “ _What do you mean?”_

“ _I don’t remember. I don’t remember anything before coming here.”_

_“So… you don’t remember seeing me and Mother in the citadel?”_

_“I don’t remember_ you _.”_

 _“Oh.”_ Verin released Essek, pulling his hands away as if he had been stung. Verin wore his emotions plainly. There was no hiding the hurt and confusion in his eyes. And for the first time since meeting him, Essek thought he looked even more unsure than Essek felt.

Essek immediately regretted saying anything. He grabbed for Verin’s arm, to give him back that connection. “ _Wait, no. Please. I want to remember. I just need help.”_

Verin’s frown deepened, _“What’s the first thing you remember?”_

Very little, before the ship. There were foggy shreds of memories punctuated by moments of excruciating pain and confusion. A bright room. A bright woman. Somewhere else. Whispers in Undercommon that things would be alright. Floating on a sea of clouds. A woman singing. “ _I vaguely remember the Nein taking me away from Xhorhas.”_

Verin whistled. “ _Damn. That’s it?”_

Essek nodded, impatience and irritation winning out over nerves now that the initial introduction had passed and the worst thing that had happened was him making Verin as uncomfortable as he was. “ _Please, what did I do? No one here is willing to tell me.”_

 _“Um… Right.”_ Verin glanced around the room, gaze falling to the sofa, a truly garish thing that made every shred of aesthetic sensibility Essek possessed weep. “ _Did you want to sit, or..?”_

If it meant getting answers, Essek would happily sit wherever he was directed, even on the monstrosity of a sofa. He perched awkwardly on one end of the sofa, expecting Verin to take the other. Instead, he sat down heavily, right next to Essek. Their combined weight caused the cushions to sag between them, and their shoulders to awkwardly jostle. 

“ _So. Uh.”_ Verin began, gesturing with his hands as he paused to gather his thoughts. “ _I only know what Mother told me, and you know how she get- shit. Sorry. I didn’t mean-”_

 _“It’s fine,”_ Essek said, interrupting Verin’s flagellation before he could lose his focus and Essek could lose his nerve, “ _It’s taken everyone some getting used to.”_

Verin nodded, his gaze drawn to the dreadful upholstery. He traced his fingers over what Essek presumed was supposed to be some kind of bird perched in a bramble. Or possibly a rabbit. It was hard to say. He looked terribly young, Essek thought. Too young to be so world weary. “ _Right, well_ .” Verin’s voice shook him from his thoughts, “ _Our Mother. Has a very particular image that she likes to maintain. So I wouldn’t be surprised if she twisted the facts to serve her narrative. Is all I was meaning to say.”_

_“Twisted facts are better than nothing.”_

It was clear that Verin had imagined their reunion going some other way. He kept sneaking glances to Essek’s face. His broken nose, his scarred forehead, only partially hidden behind limp bangs. He had a sort of strange, hollow expression, as if he were looking at a ghost. “ _You, uh. Light. Well. You stole two beacons. You remember what those are?”_

Essek nodded, “ _I do now.”_

_“Right. Well. You stole two of the most sacred artifacts in the Dynasty, and you sold them to the Empire, equipping them with weapons for their war against your own home.”_

Essek wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, having spent so many months imagining what his terrible crimes might have been. Treason was not a surprise, given the fallout. But why? “ _I don’t understand, what would I gain from warmongering?”_

Verin scratched his jaw, shrugging one stiff shoulder. “ _I don’t know for certain. But I could guess?”_

_“What is your guess then?”_

_“You were obsessed with those things. Even when we were kids. You won a scholarship to the Tomes when you were forty-three because of some historic essay you wrote about the effect dunamis had on ley lines, or something to that effect. I didn’t understand it then, and I still don’t now, but. Your ideas were as secular as they were revolutionary. You didn’t make many friends in the church. Or in the government, for that matter. So, maybe it was out of spite? Maybe you were trying to get funding? Maybe you thought the Empire would give you a longer leash than the Dynasty? I don’t know.”_

_“How did I become Shadowhand in the first place if I was so controversial?”_

Verin cocked an eyebrow. 

“ _I don’t remember. I was just told.”_ Essek clarified.

“ _Oh._ ” Verin’s attention was once more drawn to the patterning on the sofa. Essek was secretly grateful that he was not expected to maintain eye contact, but couldn’t help but wonder at Verin's nebulous mood. “ _I imagine some of it was Mother’s doing, being Umavi. But you wanted it. You always seemed to get what you wanted_.” Verin sounded so bitter, and there was a tension to his features, like he was struggling to keep from scowling. 

“ _How old was I?”_ Essek asked.

Verin laughed, a hollow, mirthless sound. “ _Eighty-seven. Youngest Shadowhand in history. Youngest apprentice at the Bastion in history. Youngest graduate of the Tomes in history…”_ He spoke with a strange cadence that gave Essek the impression that he was imitating someone else’s voice, someone else’s words. “ _You collected accolades like other kids collected pretty pebbles.”_

“ _You said we weren’t close, was that..?”_

 _“No. Yes. It’s complicated._ ” Verin grimaced and shifted restlessly in his seat, which made Essek slump over into his shoulder. Which just made it more awkward. He wasn’t sure why Verin didn’t just scoot over. _“Mother kept us both busy. And, no offense, but you were an asshole. I wasn’t smart enough for you, so I was a waste of your time. Anything that wasn’t furthering your studies was a waste of time.”_ He paused, holding up a hand as if to stave off an argument, “ _Which wasn’t just on you. Mother encouraged it. I wasn’t an Old Soul. I wasn’t a prodigy. I was just… boring.”_ He shrugged, looking at Essek long and hard, his gaze once more drawn to the ugly scar that carved up his forehead. Looked where his nose was permanently twisted. There was an edge of pity in his gaze that made Essek squirm. “ _I look at you now, and I look at her, and I think maybe boring isn’t so bad.”_

Essek cleared his throat, pointedly looking away towards the curtains drawn tight over the window. It was strange how drawn curtains seemed foreign to him now, he so used to throwing them wide and letting the light blind him. “ _What about our father? I understand he’s passed, but were we..?”_

Verin snorted, a loud, amused, utterly undignified sound that had Essek whipping his head back around half expecting the man to be choking on something. But by the time Essek was looking at him, a heavy weight had settled across his shoulders, like the loss was something he had not yet quite come to terms with. “ _You absolutely hated the man. Called him the Umavi’s Bedwarmer.”_

Essek spluttered in surprise, “Was _he?”_

 _“No!”_ Verin cried, scandalized, “ _He was a Commander under the Dusk Captain.”_

_“Why didn’t I like him then?”_

Verin leaned back into the cushions, staring up at the ceiling with a pensive frown. “ _Because he always took Mother’s side, not yours? And, I don’t know, sometimes he acted like your treatments put too much strain on the den, and he wasn’t shy talking about it. Mother is far more vain than he was.”_

 _“My treatments?”_ Essek asked, trying to remember any mention of medical issues from the Nein. 

“... _For your legs?_ ” Verin said, as if it were obvious. 

“ _Is that what those scars are?”_ Essek asked, realization dawning on him. He pulled one trouser leg up to his knee, and prodded at the scar running down the inside edge of his shin He had never been able to figure out why the marks on his legs looked so different to the rest of the dirty, jagged scars on his body. They were lighter, cleaner, straighter. Incisions. 

_“Uh, yeah? That’s why you started floating. Because you were sick of being stuck in bed every time you had to have another surgery.”_

Essek heard his entire statement. He did. He was listening. But everything after _float_ was lost almost immediately as Essek was utterly consumed by the implications of that single word. “ _Wait. I_ floated _?”_ He asked. 

Verin groaned, shaking his head. “ _Once you started you never stopped. I hated you for it. I wanted to float too, but you refused to teach me how.”_

He hadn’t misheard. Floating sounded amazing. It made so much sense. How much more could he accomplish in a day if he wasn’t constantly worrying about how his legs would feel afterwards? He’d always assumed the pain had been from whatever was done to him in Xhorhas. The same as his arms, his face. If he could float… He cleared his throat, realizing he’d likely been quiet for far too long. “ _What, um. What about consecution?”_

Verin cocked his head to the side. If he’d been concerned by the drawn out silence, he said nothing to the effect. _“What about it?”_

_“Do you know why I wasn’t?”_

_“You didn’t want to be. You said it was a-”_ and here Verin adopted another breathy lilt. This one, Essek realized with dawning horror, was meant to be an impression of himself. “- _a draconian indoctrination technique that only served to empower the antiquated theocratic establishment.”_ After a beat he added, “ _That was probably another reason you didn’t have many friends in the church.”_

Essek burst out laughing. Verin shook his head and joined him, chuckling softly under his breath. When their laughter died down, Essek glanced up at Verin. “ _Do you believe that?”_

“ _Believe what?”_

 _“That it’s a ‘draconian indoctrination technique that only serves to empower the antiquated theocratic establishment’?”_ he recited, pushing his voice to lean into Verin’s impersonation. 

“ _Ah. I never really gave it much thought, honestly. You were far more concerned about it than I was.”_

The Luxon came to mind unbidden, telling him how he’d always worshipped them. Always been consumed by them. 

_“What if I was thinking about it now?”_

_“About consecution?”_ Verin asked, “ _I’d think you’d lost your mind.”_

Essek winced, his heart sinking. _“Because it’s me thinking about it, or because you think it’s a bad idea?”_

 _“I meant more because there’s no way it could be done now. But, I guess because it was you thinking about it. I never saw the harm.”_ Verin shrugged, as if ambivalent, but Essek couldn’t help but notice he did not offer comment on his own consecution status. He wondered if perhaps Verin had been deemed ‘too boring’.

“ _What if there was a way?” Essek asked, turning to face Verin properly. He grimaced in frustration as their knees knocked together. “Just forget about everything else. If I could walk out of this door and be consecuted, what would you think?”_

Verin finally, _finally_ took the hint and scooted over to the middle of the sofa. _“You’re serious?”_

_“Please, just. Consider it a thought exercise.”_

Verin snorted. _“Er. Okay. I’d… be a little scared, honestly. You’re so smart already. I can barely imagine what you’d be like in a couple hundred years, much less multiple lifetimes.”_

Essek looked down at his hands. The hands that had held a beacon. The hands that the Luxon showed him shining with the Light of Creation, and bowing the world low. “ _Why scared?”_

 _“Maybe scared is the wrong word. Intimidated? I feel like if you had enough time, you could take over the world.”_ He chuckled, but when the color drained from Essek’s face, his laughter died away. He gently prodded Essek with his elbow. “ _That was a joke. What’s going on?”_

_“There’s a way for me to get back what I’ve lost. But I need to be consecuted for it to work.”_

_“But you can’t. No priest would conduct the ritual, Essek.”_

Essek took in a deep breath, held it for as long as he possibly could, held it until his lungs burned, and let it out again in a sharp sigh. “ _The Luxon spoke to me.”_

Verin laughed, once, uncertainly. He was a nervous laugher, Essek was beginning to realize. There was no nuance required in reading this man at all. Why couldn’t everything be so simple? _“You’re joking.”_ Verin said, interrupting his thoughts.

“ _I wish I was.”_

 _“You’ve- How do you even know it was the Luxon?”_ Verin’s voice was hushed even though there was no one else in the room. Seemingly cowed by the very nature of the conversation. 

“ _I was inside a beacon. And they told me they were.”_

Verin swore. “ _You’re going to do it, right?”_

_“I don’t know.”_

_“Why wouldn’t you? Essek. A god comes to you, you_ listen! _”_ Verin spoke with the conviction of a believer. Someone who had no qualms or questions, who accepted the ineffable as fixed, untouchable reality. 

_“I don’t know that I want to live forever. I don’t know that I want to… serve something like that.”_

_“So what you’re saying is you have commitment issues. Hells. Tell the Luxon I’ll do it, if you’re so opposed.”_

Essek glared at Verin, pushing himself from the sofa to pace restlessly around the room. “ _I’m sorry that I’m having a hard time committing to an eternity of servitude.”_

 _“That was a joke, Essek. Lighten up,"_ he said, then added, muttering, _"No memories, but still a damn hardass.”_ Verin pointed to the couch, silently urging him to sit back down. Which Essek ignored.

_“I- Fine. I’m sorry. I have had similar conversations with some of my, er, friends. And it has been similarly unhelpful. I’m just frustrated.”_

Verin grinned fondly, but said nothing, leaving a defensive Essek bristling under his scrutiny. “ _What?”_ Essek snapped, immediately regretting the venom in his voice. 

“ _Just never thought I’d see the day you had friends.”_

 _“Have you not met the Mighty Nein?”_ The Nein were such a singular experience. Essek could hardly wrap his mind around what life _without_ knowledge of their company could be like, so completely had their bombastic lives taken over his. 

“ _Never had the pleasure, no. I was left cleaning up their mess when they barreled through Bazzoxan though.”_

That sounded about right.

_“They… They are a lot. But they are good people, more or less. I could arrange for you to meet them, if you’d like?”_

_“I’d love to.”_

As soon as he extended the offer, Essek regretted it. Not just because it meant socializing with the Nein in their overwhelming group form, and he was cautious to get more attached than he already was, but because it meant sharing this man, his brother, with them. This one thing that was well and truly _his_ , that they could neither judge nor control.

“ _Everything okay?”_

 _“Yes. Of course. What?”_ Essek had hardly been listening. 

_“You got a little… absent there for a second.”_

Essek dismissively waved his hand.

“ _We, uh. We don’t have to meet them if you don’t want to. We can just talk here."_

Essek shot him a grateful glance, slumping back onto the sofa. _“Could we start with that? We have a couple of days. I think I just need to… bolster myself.”_ _  
__  
__“Sure thing.”_

They talked well into the evening. Wandering from one topic to another. About family. About religion. About the war. About Verin’s work, and Essek’s. Essek was exhausted by the time the sun set, though a sort of contented awareness had settled deep in his bones. There was the same sort of distance in his perception as had pervaded his conversation with Yeza. A sort of frosted glass that protected him from the reality of a disjointed past. But now he had some context. He had, even if only a little, _why_. 

When he caught Essek listing to the side, sinking wearily into the sofa, Verin offered to let him stay the night. He would crash on the ugly sofa, and give Essek the bed. But Essek hesitated. As much as he wanted to stay, to talk until he could talk no longer, he was leery of making a fool of himself. No one had offered to stay with him since the Nein’s return, not even Frumpkin. Granted, Essek had not had the courage to ask for company either. It was as if they assumed since he had been alone for the better part of two months, he no longer required a babysitter to hold his hand in the dark. Nevermind he hadn’t been alone at all. 

Ever since coming to Port Damali, he felt even more ill at ease under the curtain of night. Especially in bed, where if he sank too heavily into the pillows it was like someone was holding him there with hands wrapped tight around his throat. Nowhere was safe. 

The risk of humiliation was just too high. He couldn’t let Verin see that. Couldn’t risk saying something he’d regret. He promised to come back in the morning.

\---

“Essek! I am glad I caught you!”

The next day Caleb caught Essek just as he was knocking on Verin’s door. The door swung open, Verin appearing like an eager puppy at the threshold before Essek had the opportunity to shoo Caleb away. This left Essek in the awkward position of either having to introduce Caleb and Verin, or ignoring propriety for the sake of his own sanity and pretending that his terrible luck was only a figment of his mind. And that when he blinked, one or both of them would disappear, taking decorum with them.

“Oh, hallo. I am sorry to intrude. Essek, I was wondering if you’d like to join me in the lab?” 

Caleb was looking at Verin like he was an insect under glass. Like he wasn’t sure what to make of this man. And wasn’t sure whether Essek needed rescuing from him or not. Essek appreciated the sentiment, but he shook his head. “I think I’m going to spend the day with my brother, if that’s alright.” 

Caleb nodded quickly, “Oh, of course! If you would like to take a break, you know where to find me. You are always welcome.” He smiled tightly at Verin and bowed, taking his leave as quickly as he had appeared. 

Once he had vanished down the end of the hallway Verin wheeled on Essek, grinning like a worg. “ _Who was that_?”

Essek shrugged, not liking the predatory glint in Verin’s eye in the slightest. _“Caleb Widogast, one of the Nein_.” 

“ _Is he the one you’re, you know, mh-mh._ ” he made a peculiar noise in his throat, a sort of sing-songing grunt that made the tips of Esseks’ ears burn.

“ _That I’m_ what?” 

Verin gestured vaguely. “ _Mother may have mentioned that you were, eahh. Intimate? With one of the humans_?”

Essek buried his face in his hands. “ _We’re not. We’re not intimate_.” The thought that his feelings had been known before he lost his memories threw him off balance. He hadn’t considered the possibility that his… infatuation was that old. He’d assumed it had grown out of nights huddled in the dark, gentle touches and invention. Of hope. He wondered what it was really born of. If there was anything there but the lies that haunted Caleb.

“ _Oh, sorry…_ ” Verin said, then belatedly, “ _Is he not interested in men, or.._?” 

Essek was regretting turning down Caleb's invitation to go to the lab. “ _Verin, please. Don’t._ ”

“ _What? He already with someone_?”

“ _No.”_ Essek tried to push past Verin into his quarters, but Verin blocaded the door, refusing to budge until he had sufficiently bled Essek of his gossip. 

“ _Is it the nose? If he’s giving you grief about that nose, I’ll punch him in the face and even the playing field._ ” He held up a fist, to illustrate his conviction. Essek wondered what would happen if he and Veth met.

“ _Please. It’s not like that_ ,” Essek said, waving his hand in an attempt to end the conversation. “ _It’s just too complicated right now_.”

“ _Because of your memories_?” Verin ventured more cautiously.

“ _Among other things_ ,” Essek muttered.

“ _All the more reason to take the Luxon up on their offer. Right? I mean. He’s… handsome? I guess? If you’re into that sort of thing_?"

“ _Can we_ please _change the subject_?”

Verin sighed, put out, “ _Fine, fine. I’m hungry though. Let's get some food._ ” He punched Essek fondly on the shoulder, then laughed at the vicious scowl he got in return. 

\---

Essek found himself explaining what many of the foods in the cafeteria were to Verin. He hadn’t realized how much coastal foods differed from the fare in Xhorhas. He’d assumed that he had a picky palette, never considering it was because the food was foreign to him, even if he couldn't remember it.

Verin ended up with a comically full tray, food heaping in a stack in the center and threatening to fall off the edges. He declared that it was best to try a little bit of everything, rather than commit to any one strange new food. 

Essek really wasn’t hungry. At all. But he reluctantly took an apple at Verin’s insistence. It didn’t mean he had to eat it.

They ate in silence, or Verin ate, and Essek watched him sort his tray into two piles of food depending on how much he liked them. Inexplicably, and to Essek's dismay, the rubbery, overcooked eggs were his favorite. 

“ _Can I ask you something?_ ” Essek asked. 

Verin hummed in agreement, nodding his head. “ _Sure_ ,” he said, distorted by a mouthful of food, “ _What_?”

“ _My death. What’s the official story_?”

Verin stopped chewing. Looked down at his tray. Shoved it into the middle of the table. 

Silence drew out between them while Verin held up a finger as he finished chewing. “ _Hitting hard first thing in the morning I see_.”

Essek grimaced, “ _You started the day making insinuations about my sex life_.” He reminded.

“ _I don’t think that’s on the same level as_ asking how you died.” Verin snapped back. 

“ _If you don’t want to talk about it, fine. We don’t have to._ ” Essek said, slumping in his seat with his arms crossed over his chest. 

Verin sighed in defeat. “ _Suicide. Is the official story. You were buried a disgrace, but not a traitor. At least not publically. You were stricken from the records, stripped of your den name. But Den Thelyss and the Dynasty came out looking spotless_.”

“ _Who did they cremate, if not me_?”

“ _Probably another prisoner? Your face was almost unrecognizable. You were beat to shit the last time I saw you alive. It was a petite, male drow with a smashed in face. Sorry, I didn’t really want to look any closer than that_.”

Essek’s pride bristled at the description. “ _I am not_ petite.”

Verin cast him a dubious look, raising an eyebrow in question. “ _I’m sorry. What would you prefer? Dainty? Travel sized_?”

“ _Okay, enough_!”

Verin laughed tiredly while Essek fumed, nursing his wounded pride.

“ _What about our Mother_ ,” Essek asked hesitantly, when Verin’s laughter petered out. “ _Did she… does she miss me_?”

Verin winced, “ _What’s the answer you want to hear_?”

“ _The truth? I_ -”

“Essek? ESSEK?” They were interrupted by Veth skidding into the cafeteria, screeching at the top of her lungs. The entire atrium went dead silent, all turning their collective attention to Veth, who stood with her hands on her knees, panting. 

“Veth, what’s going on?” Essek asked, not needing to even raise his voice with how quiet the room had fallen.

“Group Meeting!” she shouted, not bothering to cross the distance between them. She turned and disappeared back down the hallway. “In the courtyard!” she added, her voice echoing behind her over her heavy footfalls. 

Verin and Essek exchanged a wordless glance before both pushed to their feet, their breakfasts forgotten.

\---

The Nein were all piled into the courtyard that overlooked the archive. Or, rather, almost all of the Nein. A hulking grey firbolg was notably absent from the party. Jester was in the middle of healing Fjord, who was nursing both a black eye and what looked to Essek like a stab to the gut. 

Caleb was pacing, his hands tangled in his hair. Veth clung to him like a terrier at his heels. 

Beau noticed them first. Her gaze skipped quickly over Essek to land on Verin, appraising him with unguarded curiosity. “They took Caduceus.” 

“Who?” Essek asked, looking to Caleb. Caleb’s expression was difficult to read, honed into something determined and stony, but his pacing and Veth’s fretting both spoke to an agitation simmering just under his unconvincing facade. 

“Scourgers. They had the tattoos.” Fjord said, shooing Jester away once the wound on his stomach had clotted. “We were attacked on the ship.” 

“What were their demands?” Caleb asked.

“They said to bring Essek and the beacon ‘home’,” Fjord said, placing air quotes around the word home. 

“Home? That could be anywhere,” Beau said with a deep frown. 

“Could it be Rosohna?” asked Veth.

“No,” Verin said, interrupting with far more confidence than Essek felt. “The Cerberus Assembly is not active in Rosohna.”

The look Beau shot him was anything but convinced. But Essek shook his head in a silent plea, and she did not engage.

“Okay, okay. Well… Then maybe Caleb’s home, in Blumenthal?” Jester asked hopefully.

“Taking him to Blumenthal would be a strategic nightmare. Beyond a clumsy attempt to upset me, there is no value in it.” Caleb said. 

“The beacon that you gave the Queen. Where did it come from?” Essek asked. 

The group fell silent. 

“Vergesson.” Caleb said finally, his shoulders drawn tight. 

“What’s that?”

“Vergesson Sanatorium,” Caleb rubbed his face. “They think it is the same beacon.” 

Yasha pushed herself from the wall, cautiously slotting herself into the group. “How do they know about the beacon in the first place?”

“It doesn't matter,” Fjord said, “We need to get Caduceus back.”

Essek stepped forward. He nearly reached out for Caleb, but thought better of it. Caleb had Veth comforting him. “I’m coming with you.”

“Absolutely not,” Caleb said, his restless pacing abruptly stopping.

“It’s my fault they took Caduceus!” 

“And if you go, you’ll die.”

“Better me than him! I’m not as important as Caduceus. You know it. I know it. Beau. Fjord.” Essek looked at each of them in turn as he said their names, “It’s the right thing to do.”

Beau was quiet for a long while. They all were, waiting for one of them to respond. Whether it was his words or hers that gave her pause, Essek couldn’t tell. “No. No it’s not,” she said with a sigh. “We don’t barter in friends Essek. We’ll figure something out that doesn’t involve risking your life or losing the beacon.”

Verin stepped forward. “Is there anything I can do to help?” 

Beau shook her head. “A Taskhand in the heart of the Empire engaging in what amounts to a tactical strike could be construed as an act of war.”

“I was put under a glamour to get here,” Verin said, “Someone could do that again.”

“No, you should stay here with Essek. Keep him safe.”

Essek’s blood ran icy with rage at Caleb’s dismissive suggestion. “Caleb. We talked about this.”

“Ja! We did! I told you that these people are very, very dangerous. And I do not know for what purpose they want you.”

“All the more reason for me to come along so that we can find _out_.”

“No! We cannot risk losing one person in the rescue of another one!” Caleb snapped. The rest of the group had all taken a collective step back as Caleb and Essek moved toe to toe, fuming at each other.

“Besides, you can’t be teleported Essek,” Jester added gently 

“What did you say?” Essek said, wheeling on her. Jester shied away.

“You can’t teleport?”

Essek glared pointedly at Caleb, then turned to Verin, gesturing for him to follow. “Come on. We’re not wanted here.”

Verin looked torn, glancing around the group that he had not even been introduced to, before reluctantly following after Essek. 

Essek glanced over his shoulder to Verin as he stormed away from the Nein. His footfalls echoed loud against the polished stone of the vacant hall. “ _Who glamoured you on your way here_?”

“ _Ah, hells. I think his name was Phaere_?”

“ _Do you think you could find him again_?”

 _“Maybe? I haven’t exactly left my quarters that much_.”

“ _We’re going to the lab. Then we’re finding Phaere._ ”

Verin’s footfalls slowed, and finally stopped. “... _Why are we going to the lab_?”

Essek turned on him, buzzing with righteous indignation as he waited for Verin to follow along again. “ _Since coming to the Coast, I haven’t been able to teleport. Magic hasn’t worked on me. But how did I get here in the first place? They would have had to carry me through the Barbed Fields, clear across the Ashkeepers, and south through the Marrow Valley. Without anyone noticing a half dead drow._ ” He shook his head. “ _They teleported me. They had to have. So why could they teleport me here, but not since?_ ”

Verin stared at him, uncomprehending. “. _..I don't know. Why_?”

“ _They had just delivered a beacon to the Queen. I would have been mere yards from it when they first teleported. So, if we have the beacon with us..?”_

_“You can be teleported again. Shit. Essek. You really think that’s a good idea? They had a point. You can’t hold your own in a fight. And if the Empire gets their hands on another beacon-”_

Essek scowled, furious and incandescent. Verin took a step back, holding up his hands in placation. “ _If you don’t want to help me, fine. But I’m going whether you’re with me or not_ ,” Essek spat.

Verin said nothing as he considered Essek's words. Once his mind was made up, he nodded a curt, decisive nod and clapped a hand to Essek’s shoulder. “ _I’m not letting you have all the fun_.”

Essek nodded, “ _Good, then come on. We have work to do_.”

“ _One question. What’s the plan here? I’m not going to let you waltz in there and hand yourself over to the empire either_.” 

“ _Hopefully? I trade the beacon for Caduceus, and Caleb teleports us all away before the beacon is out of range_ .”

“ _And if it is out of range_?” Verin asked warily.

“ _Well, then I’m fucked. But better me than them_.”

It was a relatively easy matter to convince Agnes to find Verin a set of armor to borrow, and equip him with a sword that ‘sufficed’, but which he admitted was grossly imbalanced once out of earshot of the helpful dwarf. It was also relatively easy to convince Phaere to disguise Verin, once they found him. It was harder to convince the mages supervising the teleportation circle to send Essek and Verin after the Nein. Which meant only one thing. Essek had to lie.

“You are aware of the important work the Mighty Nein do, yes?” Essek asked impatiently. 

“Yes. I also know they have a wizard who is more than capable of teleporting wherever they please.” The head mage was a matronly woman, with glasses that perched precariously on the end of her nose, and who articulated each word as slowly and precisely as possible, as if intentionally trying to draw out the conversation with each wet, drawn out breath.

“Of course, and they have departed with due haste. Because we are on a life or death rescue mission. My bodyguard and I needed to pick up some supplies before departing. They are meeting us there.” Essek gestured both to Verin, who stayed mercifully silent, and the satchel resting heavy on Essek’s hip.

“Ugh.” The woman relented, phlegmatic and bored, “Where?” 

“Vergesson Sanatorium. In the Empire.” 

“I have no idea where that is, it’d be a complete shot in the dark.”

“Sibylla knows,” one of the other mages, a young halfling man, said.

“What?”

“Sibylla was on an infiltration mission at the Sanatorium during the war,” the halfling explained.

“Is she on the campus today?”

This led to an awkward wait, while the elderly mage disappeared in search of Sibylla. Essek mentally counted down the minutes until Verin’s spell wore off. Verin adjusted his borrowed armor in a vain attempt to get it to fit better. 

Essek did not have Caleb’s gift for timekeeping. But he was fairly certain they lost fifteen minutes by the time the mage and (hopefully) Sibylla returned. Add to that the five or so minutes lost extricating themselves from Phaere and getting to the teleportation room, they were looking at forty minutes and counting. It was taking too long. 

“If you don’t want blood on your hands, you’ll get me to Vergesson _now_. This delay might have cost them the mission already.” He hoped his genuine urgency lent to his credence. 

“This has been cleared with Archivist Ealomin?” Sibylla asked dubiously.

“ _Yes_ .” Essek pressed, lying through his teeth, “I wouldn’t be here wasting all of our time if it hadn’t. Confirm it with Ealomin once we leave, if you must. But we must _leave_ . _Now._ ”

There was a long stretch of silence, punctuated only by the loud creak of Verin’s armor. 

“Fine. Come on.”

\---

Sibylla deposited them behind the treeline, roughly a hundred yards from the front gate. “The entire facility is warded,” she warned, “They’ll know as soon as you enter.” 

“That’s the plan.” Essek said, leaving her behind. 

\---

There were two armed guards at the gate.   
  
“Halt, state yo--” one of the guards, a human man, trailed off with his hand on his sword, staring warily at Essek. Verin made to mirror the man’s movement, but Essek stilled him with a hasty gesture. “What the fuck is a crick doing here?”

Essek stepped between Verin and the guard, praying his brother’s disgust went unchallenged. He pulled off his hood. “Do you know who I am?” 

“No?” Ths guards shared a confused glance,

Essek squared his shoulders, channeling the confidence and authority of someone who belonged, and pointed to the gate. “Then you aren’t cleared to know what I’m doing here. Take me to the senior Assembly member on duty.” 

“Wh-”

“I’m _expected_.” 

The guard sighed, and looked to his partner. The second guard shrugged, “His funeral.” 

The first waved for them to follow. 

The campus was a fortress, Essek realized with growing dismay. There would be no escaping it on foot, Caleb would need to teleport. He continued counting, counting, the clock ticking down to the loss of Verin’s spell. If it fell before they got to the rest of the group, they were in trouble. 

The guard led them past a tower surrounded by scaffolding. There was a large chunk of missing masonry, as if there had been an explosion at some point. Beyond that was another tower, marked with a sign that Essek could not read. The guard led them through to an antechamber where a mousy looking half elf man in oversized glasses was scribbling away at a desk surrounded by a mountain of papers.

“Is Frau Beck in her office?”

The man looked up at the guard, at Verin, and then long and hard at Essek. “No. She’s in a meeting.”

“Take me there,” Essek said with all the impatience and scorn that he could muster, all the while nervously counting down the minutes on Verin’s spell.

The secretary blanched, looking to the guard for assistance “Oh, I don’t think-”

“I’m _part_ of that meeting you idiot. Where are they?” Essek snapped, cutting off any change of the guard undermining his narrative.

“Lecture hall B.”

Essek turned and glared at the guard, jutting his chin towards the door in a wordless command. He could hear the secretary muttering _asshole_ as they swept from the room. 

\---

The heavy wooden door squealed loud on its hinges, and every single person in the lecture hall turned to stare at Essek, Verin, and the guard.   
  
Half or so of the room was empty, save for a podium and a table placed carefully in the center. The other half was built on a slight decline, with rows of benches straddling a wide middle aisle. 

The majority of the Nein were bunched to one side in the front of the room, Caleb stood in the just behind the podium, facing off with a scarred, blond woman and a tall, black haired man. There were four more tattooed individuals, scourgers, Essek thought they were called, standing behind the two in the middle, silent and still as sentries. Slumped on the floor behind them was Caduceus. 

The blond woman waved in greeting, smiling sweetly. At her signal, the guard bowed and departed, leaving Verin and Essek standing in the doorway. “So nice of you to finally join us, Thelyss. You’ve been missed.”

Caleb paled, rushing towards Essek. “What are you _doing-”_

“He, Bren.” The woman called, looking from Essek to Caleb and back with a knowing grin.

Caleb stopped in his tracks, but did not turn to face her.

"Hat er dir gesagt was er mit dem Vollstrecker getan hat? Er hat seine Beine für ihn gespreizt, wie eine billige Hure. Er hat darum gebettelt."

Essek couldn’t understand what she said, but he saw the immediate shift in Caleb’s expression. All the confusion, and disappointment, and mistrust that he had expected to see when Caleb had first arrived back Nicodranas was there, staring at him now. A sick, horrified disgust settled in his gut like tar. There was a roil of cruel, knowing laughter from the group lingering behind her that made Essek want to curl up and die. 

"Nein, das hat er nicht getan, oder?" The woman said, circling Caleb in a wide, lazy arc. "Ich muss sagen, ich habe dich nicht für einen Crick Ficker gehalten, Bren." Her tone was conversational, delighted even. At odds with the stony sneer contorting her scarred features. Whatever she was saying had Caleb’s fists trembling in white-knuckled fury. “Ich bin mir nicht sicher ob ich deinen schlechten Geschmack für eine Beleidigung halten soll.”

The woman bared her teeth in a vicious, sharp grin, just as Caleb smashed together his hands and blasted her with a massive ball of fire.

Verin stormed away from Essek’s side, wordlessly joining the Nein as they flew into action, and leaving a shimmering grey echo in his wake. The hall descended into chaos. 

This was not how this was supposed to go. There would be no trade now. He would be taken. The beacon would be taken. If they were lucky, the Nein might survive.

If they weren’t lucky, their deaths were on his corpse.

There was a loud bang, Essek turned just in time to see a glowing grey projectile screaming in his direction from the black haired man’s outstretched hand. And then the echo was in front of him, the outline of its sword drawn in defense. It slid backwards under the force of the attack. Essek stared at it, and then at Verin, who was frantically waving at him to get under cover.

Essek shot him a grateful nod, diving behind the nearest pew while he tried to figure out what to do. The smartest thing would be to run. To stay out of the way. To keep the beacon safe.

But he didn’t think he could live with himself if he abandoned the Nein.

The room was abuzz with the sounds of spellcraft, and for a few long, terrifying moments he huddled in his temporary cocoon of safety, listening to the battle going on without him. Sizzling, sparking, exploding. Occasionally there would be a shout. Angry, surprised, pained. 

He couldn’t see well without crawling completely out from behind cover, but he didn’t think anyone was actively guarding Caduceus, too distracted by the explosion of activity from the Nein. If he could get Caduceus free, maybe Caduceus could help turn the tide on this mess. 

Caleb and the blond woman were entangled in a vicious volley of spells. Verin had fallen in beside Yasha, the two of them dancing around one another like they’d practiced together for years, even surrounded by three of the scourgers. Fjord and Jester squared off with the fourth, his sword blazing and her unicorn hamsters harrying the wizard’s attempts to cast. He could not find Veth, and there was another wizard, Essek was sure of it, the black haired one that had been talking with Caleb, but he could not see him either.

He scrambled down the aisle, ignoring Verin’s furious shouts to stay under cover. Twice, Essek found himself caught in the trajectory of one of those grey blasts. Twice Verin’s echo threw itself at the attack, allowing Essek to continue stumbling towards Caduceus’s prone form, the echo lingering restlessly at his side.

Caduceus had an anti-magic collar around his neck, and his bony wrists were shackled to his ankles, bowing him into a fetal huddle. Essek tried to pry the cuff from around his neck, but was only able to shove two fingers between the metal and Caduceus’s skin.

“Heeeey Essek. It’s good to see you,” Caduceus said, smiling blearily. His pupils were blown wide and his lids drooped heavily. He looked drugged. Or concussed. Or both.

“Good to see you too,” Essek said, forcing himself to smile. “I’m getting you out of here,” he said, scooting down Caduceus’s body to grab the chain between his legs. Pushing through the pain in his shoulder, he pulled. And pulled. And pulled.

And managed to haul Caduceus all of three inches. 

Caduceus’s unfocused gaze shifted like molasses to somewhere behind Essek, the smallest furrow creasing his brow. “Oh,” he said.

Someone grabbed Essek by the scruff of his neck. He yelped, clawing at the hands around his throat as he was hoisted off of the ground. He could just make out the face of the man who had been speaking with Caleb in the periphery of his vision. 

With a flick of his free hand, the tattoos on the man’s arm ignited. He closed his fist and a wave of force exploded outwards, blasting Caduceus into the far wall. Essek couldn’t tell if he was breathing, but he definitely wasn’t moving.

“Nice of you to join us,” the man said, his voice a low rumble. Essek squimed, kicking out at the man’s chest, to absolutely no effect, other than the man’s subdued amusement. 

“You know, you’re a lot shorter than I thought you’d be.” He leaned in, and Essek could feel his breath on his face. He shuddered, a full body cringe of disgust. “Must be because you’re not using that hovering spell of yours. Pity. I was looking forward to seeing it.” He turned, and began walking Essek’s dangling form towards the rows of seating. 

“You’re a scientist,” the man said, “I have a hypothesis to test.” He heaved Essek into a row of pews, each pew behind it crashing down, one by one, like dominos. Essek slumped limp against the floor. The beacon rolled from his satchel, bobbing down the tilted row of pews. He started crawling towards it, but did not get far before he was grabbed by the ankle and pulled out into the aisle. The man kicked him over onto his back and withdrew a massive blade from a strap across his back **.**

Someone, whom it took Essek far too long to realize must be Verin, screamed Essek’s name and the echo swung its blade at the man. The echo held his attention long enough for Essek to struggle back to his feet, but no longer. The man snarled, landing a vicious hit that swept through the echo’s middle, and it flickered out of existence.  
  
His next swing was aimed at Essek’s leg. It landed with a sickening crack, and Essek collapsed, clutching at the wound. He gagged in pain, tears streaming unbidden down his cheeks. 

The man grabbed him once more, lifting him up by the front of his shirt. “Twice is coincidence.” He tossed Essek into another row of pews. Essek landed hard, his head smacking against the floor, the jostling of his shattered leg breathtakingly painful. The man just watched. Waited.

It was strange, as the battle raged around them, that this man’s sole, icy focus was on whether or not Essek was going to cast anything. He would throw up a counter spell, or a shield if an attack came in his direction. But his gaze never left Essek sprawled before him. Essek didn’t have the energy to be defiant. He struggled to rip a length of fabric from the hem of his shirt to tourniquet his leg. 

Maybe coming had been a bad idea after all, he thought grimly, blood staining his hands and his trousers. A shard of bone, the glint of metal, and a massacre of flesh were left exposed by the man’s sword. 

The fight was going badly. 

Dragging himself to the aisle, Essek could see three of the scourgers were down, but the Nein were faring just as poorly. Caduceus had not stirred. Fjord and Veth were both unmoving, Beau was _impaled_ on a spike of ice. Caleb and Jester were flinging cantrips more than their higher level spells. Verin and Yasha were beginning to lag, their reactions sluggish and heavy. Both were bleeding profusely, and Essek could not tell whether the wounds were superficial or not. 

The man hopped over a toppled pew, and wandered unhurried in Essek’s direction. “Three times is a pattern,” he said, looming over Essek. He flipped Essek over with his sword, and tapped the inside of his uninjured leg with the dull side of his blade in a warning. Or a promise.

And then the man was tumbling sideways with a grunt, a blur of motion slamming into him. 

Verin landed hard on the ground, wrestling with the man for his sword. The man buried a knife in Verin’s side. Verin smashed his fist into the man’s face, teeth clenched in a vicious snarl as he bled all over the floor.

Essek was going to die. They were all going to die. The beacon would be lost. All of their efforts. All of the time they had dedicated to healing him, caring for him, helping him find his powers. All a waste.

And Caleb. He would never have a chance to earn Caleb’s forgiveness. Would never have a chance to try and make him smile, and laugh, and create his beautiful magic. Would never have a chance to tell him how much he meant.

Essek didn’t want to live forever. But he wanted these people to die even less. And if him living forever meant they could live for even one day more… it would be worth it. 

He choked on Caleb’s name, shouting as loud as he could manage past the pain in his leg. He wasn’t certain if Jester could heal him, even with the beacon, and he would not ask her to waste her spells on him, even if she could. He didn’t dare interrupt Yasha or Verin. He needed Caleb.

It took Caleb a few moments to respond, beyond glancing quickly over his shoulder in Essek's direction. He and the blond woman were throwing blows back and forth, until he finally had the space to blast her across the room, pinning her to the wall with a massive cat’s paw. He stumbled, clenching his side, over to Essek’s prone form.

“Essek, what were you _thinking_?”

“Caleb,” he hissed through clenched teeth, “I need you to get me the beacon. It’s in the row where I first fell.”

“You BROUGHT IT?” Caleb said, then immediately glanced over his shoulder at the two men wrestling not ten feet from them. There was no break in their struggle to indicate whether either had heard or comprehended the significance of his outcry.

Essek winced, and it had nothing to do with the pain in his leg. “I was going to barter it!” he hissed.

“You are _such_ a fool Essek!”

“Can we please worry about that later?” Essek pleaded, glancing from Caleb to Verin and back. There was a lot of blood, too much blood. Verin was still occupying the man's attention, but Essek wasn't confident he would be able to for much longer. 

“Essek. I can’t. I can’t touch it or something bad will happen.”

“Worse than _this_?”

The swift confidence with which Caleb nodded was disturbing. “Very possibly!”

“Please, Caleb. I can save them.” 

There was a shout from the front of the room, drawing Caleb’s focus. “Listen. I do not have time to explain,” he said, turning back to Essek. “But if I touch it, this _thing-_ ” he held up his scarred hand, “Might be able to take my body. And it will be no friend to you.”

Essek grabbed Caleb’s hand, squeezing it hard. “I’ll protect you. I can do this. I can save us.” He licked his lips, reaching up for Caleb’s cheek with a bloodied hand, “Trust me, please.”

Maybe Caleb thought they were all going to die anyway. Maybe he thought he was choosing the lesser of two evils. Or maybe, just maybe, he really did believe in Essek.

He sighed, leaning into Essek’s palm. “Do not kill them. Please.”

“What? Who?”

“Astrid and Eadwulf,” Caleb said, nodding to the man wrestling on the floor with Verin. “The two I was speaking to when you got here. They’re mine.”

Essek groaned in exasperation, sparing no sympathy for the man attempting to gut his brother. “I’ll try. If it means saving us or saving them, I’m saving us,” he warned.

Caleb nodded once, bruskly, and turned to press a kiss to Essek’s palm. “Okay. I trust you.”

Caleb pushed past Verin and Eadwulf, yelping when a blast of ice from the front of the room hit him hard in the shoulder. He scrambled down the row of pews and let out a triumphant ‘ha!’ when he found what he was looking for. He held the beacon up for Essek to see, and then, suddenly, his features went slack.

Almost as soon as the beacon was in his hands, Caleb’s eyes rolled back in his skull. His legs buckled, and he collapsed into a heap on the floor. The beacon fell from his grasp, bouncing once, twice, and then rolled another fifteen feet, bumping into Eadwulf's side. Both Verin and Eadwulf paused, staring for a split second down at the prize that had fallen into their laps before they both pounced. 

There was a blur of motion too frenetic for Essek to follow. Verin called Essek’s name, and the beacon was tumbling his way down the row of pews, Eadwulf lurching after it. Verin tackled him to the ground, grabbing for his hands as his tattoos started to glow. 

Essek hauled himself to the beacon, dragging his useless leg behind him. He snatched it up and tugged it tight against his chest just as Eadwulf managed to dislodge Verin. It thrummed softly, like a heartbeat. He wrapped his body around it and willed it to activate. 

\---

_The starsea is as vast and brilliant an expanse as Essek remembers. But, Essek cannot help but notice, there are far fewer filaments branching out before him now._

_“You’re back,” the Luxon says. They wear Caleb’s visage once more, but there is only a faint shimmer of unrealized potential, the forms of Caleb’s face nearly stagnant. It is the face Essek was holding in his hand only moments ago._

_“I am,” Essek says, looking down at his leg, whole and unbloodied, the leg of his trousers not even torn._

_The Luxon casts a critical eye to the diminished threads of Essek’s potential, and when they turn their attention upon him, their gaze is fathomless. “Do you accept Consecution?”_

_“On three conditions.” Essek has bluffed and blustered his way through this entire day, who would he be if he did not continue? Who would he be if he did not gamble with a god? At this point, he has nothing to lose._

_“You are bold to make demands of us.” The Luxon sounds almost amused._

_“You chose me. You knew what you were getting.”_

_The ghost of a knowing smile alights Caleb’s lips. “Speak your terms then.”_

_“One: I practice magic as I did before. I do not want to become a cleric. I want to be a wizard, and I want my spells back. I want my spellbook, and my components.”_

_“That sounds like more than one demand,” the Luxon points out._

_“Two,” Essek says, ignoring their comment, “I need to be able to cast the spell the cleric cast on me.”_

_“That is a_ cleric _spell,” the Luxon says blandly, “not a wizard spell."_

_“I will be a wizard, and I will cast that spell,” Essek repeats, voice hard. The Luxon gestures with Caleb's hand for Essek to continue._

_“And three: I need you to send me back at_ exactly _the moment I left. I cannot miss hours from this conversation.”_

_“You assume that can be done,” the Luxon says, “What if time in this place is fixed?”_

_“If you cannot fulfill my conditions, then you are no god worthy of my service.”_

_“And your gambit will have been for nothing.”_

_Essek says nothing, merely glares in challenge. It is true. If any one of his conditions are not met, this whole effort will be for naught. But it will be for naught anyway if he does not try._

_“These are your terms?” The Luxon asks after a moment, an eternity, of silence hangs between them._

_“They are.”_

_“And for these terms, you will accept consecution? You will continue to devote your service to the Light?”_

_Essek braces himself when the space around them fills with the pressure of indomitable power. He faces himself, wreathed in starlight, his eyes glowing grey with dunamis. Everything that terrifies him, and yet is not nearly so terrifying as losing the Nein._

_Essek takes a deep breath and nods._

_“You must voice your oath.”_

_“I will. For these terms I will accept Consecution and I will-” he hesitates for the briefest of moments, “-and I will serve you. This in return for my memories, my magic, and my conditions as I have stated them.”_

_“So be it.” With a flick of Caleb’s wrist, the Luxon summons forth a thick tome bound in deep blue leather. A shimmering silver dodecahedron brands the cover, as if carved out of mercury. Atop it rests a matching component pouch, instead made of velvet, but with the same dimly glowing mark. Essek wrinkles his nose in distaste at the brand._

_The Luxon pulls the book away, and there is something deep and dangerous in the reflection of Caleb’s eyes. “If you do not want it, then you are under no obligation to take it.”_

_Essek sighs, resigning himself to the new reality of his service. “No. I want it.”_

_The Luxon extends Caleb’s hands toward him, the tools of his trade humming with power. The moment his hands touch the book, the space around them erupts into a universe of supernovas._

\---

A brilliant, blinding flash, and Essek was back in the lecture hall.

All was exactly as it had been when he left.

Except Essek was floating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations
> 
> He, Bren: Hey, Bren
> 
> Hat er dir gesagt was er mit dem Vollstrecker getan hat? Er hat seine Beine für ihn gespreizt, wie eine billige Hure. Er hat darum gebettelt: Did he tell you what he did with the Vollstrecker? He spread his legs like a cheap whore. He begged for it.
> 
> Nein, das hat er nicht getan, oder?: No, he didn’t, did he?
> 
> Ich muss sagen, ich habe dich nicht für einen Crick-Ficker gehalten, Bren. Ich bin mir nicht sicher ob ich deinen schlechten Geschmack für eine Beleidigung halten soll: I must say, I didn’t take you for a crick-fucker, Bren. I’m not sure if I should take your bad taste as an insult.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everybody! Thank you so much for all the fantastic feedback on the last chapter! Your comments and kudos are the highlight of my day! <3 We're getting to the end of the story. Just one more chapter after this. I hope you all enjoy it. As always, unbetaed, concrit and corrections appreciated! I actually have a playlist that I've put together for this fic. Would folks be interested in me including it in the notes for the next chapter? Let me know! 
> 
> CW: Temporary character death, continued themes from previous chapters.
> 
> One Zemnian word this chapter  
> Jungspinne: spiderling
> 
> Fun facts: I am a giant nerd an ended up figuring out what a level 17 Essek's spell list would look like. Also! Halas only ever casts spells that are V, S, or VS. CAN YOU FIGURE OUT WHAT THEY ARE.

The first thing Essek felt was Power. He felt light. He felt free. He felt invincible.

The second thing Essek felt was Pain. His entire body hurt, and his leg, specifically, was agonizing. His trouser leg was soaked wet, and the flesh beneath still mutilated. There was a steady drip, drip, drip of dark blood pooling on the ground beneath his feet. 

Apparently the Luxon did not see fit to grant a single favor beyond what he explicitly requested. He wasn’t sure whether to be relieved that they did not presume, or exasperated that they did not presume. Fat lot of good his magic did him if he bled out. 

Essek shoved the beacon back into his satchel, taking stock of the rest of the room. 

Verin was still wrestling with Eadwulf, though both were ragged and sluggish. Their teeth bared white against red. Blood stained their hands and their clothes, and the floor all around them in a halo of crimson, but he couldn’t tell from whom it was coming. 

When Caleb collapsed, his spell had collapsed with him and Astrid was freed from the snare of his cat’s paw. She was tearing into a fatigued Jester with ice and frost, clouds of vapor swirling around them both. Jester was swinging her Lollipop in wide, clumsy arcs, struggling to land a blow. 

Yasha had squared off with the third, unknown, scourger, her eyes glowing fierce. Electricity crackled around them, dancing across the scourger’s arms and Yasha’s blade in a static storm. 

Caleb was still collapsed on the ground.

There was one problem that Essek could solve immediately. No moral dilemmas, no promises to make or to break. The nameless scourger, not offered the mercy of Caleb’s compassion, was easy to dispatch. Essek crushed the man's skull with a lazy gesture, the only evidence of its once existence a fine mist that lingered in the air and painted Yasha’s face red. The scourger's body fell slack to the floor and Yasha wasted no time barreling over the body to fight alongside Jester. 

Essek did not trust himself to hit Eadwulf without also hitting Verin, especially without killing either of them. He would only get in the way there, so he misty stepped past them to Caleb’s limp form. 

Caleb was stirring, sluggish and heavy, and Essek let out a sigh of relief. “Caleb,” he whispered, gently shaking Caleb’s shoulder. "Are you alright?"

Caleb groaned and gingerly pressed at his mess of red hair, then looked down at his hands, flipping them over. He traced his fingers over the scar on his palm. Essek offered him his hand, but Caleb smacked it away, struggling to his feet on his own. Something was wrong in the proud set of his shoulders, the rigidness of his posture. He looked at Essek through disheveled bangs, and his lip curled back in _disgust_. He began reciting what Essek recognized as the incantation for teleportation, and Essek counterspelled without thinking.

Caleb sneered, and Essek did not recognize him. 

“Please. Caleb. It’s me, I don’t want to hurt you.” Essek held up his hands, watching with dismay as Caleb flickered into a cloud of silver mist and reappeared nearer to the door. Essek chased after him, wrenching his hands in the precise, angular gestures to snare Caleb with telekinesis. 

Caleb’s expression shifted into something cruel and sharp and so terribly foreign that it broke Essek’s heart. “You’ll find the feeling is not mutual, Jungspinne.” 

Essek was so distracted by the ferocity of Caleb's expression that he did not see the icy missile hurtling towards him. The bullet exploded against his chest and the freezing shrapnel bit into his hands and face. He clutched at his chest, wheezing and spluttering, the wind knocked from his lungs. Caleb plummeted from the air, free of Essek’s spell. He landed with a pained grunt.

Verin had wrestled Eadwulf’s sword free from underneath their combined bulk. He smashed the pommel into Eadwulf's face, over and over until he was still beneath him. Free of his opponent, Verin struggled to his feet, and held the blade poised over Eadwulf’s chest for a finishing blow. 

Essek croaked over his shoulder for Verin not to kill him.

“ _He’s a liability Essek!”_ Verin snapped, not taking his eyes off Eadwulf's prone form. 

_“Leave him be! Help the others with the woman!”_

Verin snarled in frustration. He tore a lash of fabric from his blood soaked tunic and gagged Eadwulf with it. Then he took the heel of his boot and stomped on Eadwulf’s hands, with more ferocity than was strictly required, snapping the tiny bones in his fingers.

He limped down the aisle, dragging Eadwulf’s sword behind him. Caleb whipped his head towards Verin and snarled a power word that made Essek’s blood run colder than the ice that burned his chest. A spell that Caleb couldn't possibly cast. He counterspelled, but Caleb countered back, and Verin dropped limp to the floor, the life ripped from him. 

Panicked and unthinking, Essek blasted Caleb, and all the pews between them, into the back wall. In retaliation, Caleb _screamed_. Astrid, Jester and Yasha all doubled over, clutching at their heads. Astrid recovered the fastest. She clutched at her forehead with one hand and wiped the blood oozing from her nose against the back of her other sleeve. She stared at Caleb, and for the first time since Essek had seen her, he thought she looked afraid. 

Yasha, with blood welling from both her nose and ears, shook herself from the spell's effect next, and while Astrid was distracted, delivered a brutal blow that sent her splaying across the floor with an ugly gash across her middle. Essek warned her the same as he had Verin, do not kill her. Yasha turned to him, eyes blazing. 

Astrid barked out a sharp, humorless laugh, “You are making a mistake, Thelyss,” she shouted through clenched teeth, her face pinched in pain. “If you do not kill us, we will kill you. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow. But the Assembly does not le-" 

Jester smacked her over the head with her Lollipop and Astrid slumped in a cascade of pink glitter 

“Yasha, come help me!" Essek said, "Jester!” Jester looked up at him, and he saw she too was bleeding from the nose and ears. 

“Yeah?” She said, squinting as if she was having a difficult time focusing. 

“Can you end a possession?”

“Maybe in like eight hours!” Jester said.

Essek groaned and dispelled the collar around Caduceus’s neck. Keeping half an eye on Caleb, he pointed from her to Caduceus. “Then get him up and running.”

Caleb managed to wriggle his arms free and an oily black tendril shot out of his hand at Essek. Essek reluctantly counterspelled it, hating how much magic he was wasting just neutralizing attacks. 

Yasha skidded to a halt at his side, her sword held at the ready. “What do you need?” 

“We need to keep him still for a full minute.” Essek said, pointing at Caleb. 

Yasha nodded. Clambering over the pews, she pressed the flat side of her blade across Caleb’s chest and pinned his arms to his sides. “Don’t struggle.” She warned. 

Caleb smiled, and misty stepped away. “Your spells will not last forever. You cannot keep me here," he goaded. “Let me go now, and no more harm shall befall your friends.” 

Instead of replying, Essek enveloped Caleb once more in a blanket of telekinetic energy. Yasha rushed over to Caleb, and threw her arm around his neck in a choke hold. 

Movement in the corner of his eye caught Essek's attention. He turned to see Jester helping a groggy Caduceus to his feet, and in doing so, missed Caleb silently casting. Yasha screamed, and stumbled backwards, clawing at her head. Caleb misty stepped away with a sharp, echoing laugh, steadily working his way back to the door.

“Caduceus!” He shouted. “Heal who you can! Jester I need your help!” 

Caduceus, with disheveled hair and drooping ears, looked blearily around the room, taking in the carnage. Once she had forced him to swallow a health potion and he was limping sluggishly to Fjord to do the same, Jester staggered over to Essek. 

“Okay," she panted with a hand pressed against her sternum, "now what?"

“Can you do _anything_ to stop Caleb from moving? I’ll counterspell him if I need to, but we _need_ to keep him still, for at _least_ a minute.”

Jester slumped, pulling at her hair. “I can try dominating him? But then I’ll be all out of big spells!"

With a furious roar, Yasha shook herself free from the painful clutches of Caleb's spell. With a running start, she barreled into Caleb, slamming her shoulder into his chest. The two of them went tumbling to the ground and she landed hard on top of him. Caleb cried out. Essek cried out with him, terrified that in her rage she had done too much damage.

“Do it _now_!” Essek said to Jester.

“Oh man, okay. Yasha watch out!” 

Yasha pinned Caleb’s arms to his sides with her legs, and stuffed her hand into his mouth. She nodded over her shoulder to Jester. 

“Okay now... don’t move!” Jester said, jabbing an authoritative finger at Caleb.

Caleb went stock still, well beyond the confines of Yasha’s bulk.

“Did it work?” Yasha asked, cautiously waving her free hand in front of Caleb’s face.

Essek didn’t wait to find out. He rushed over and began weaving his spell. Never performed before, only seen as it was wrought upon himself, yet his fingers knew the precise maze of motions that would allow him to ensnare a person’s essence.

“Essek, what are you doing?” Jester asked, lingering at his side. He shook his head, not willing to risk the spell with a response. 

Essek pressed his hands to Caleb's temples, and felt the exact moment his fingers hooked onto the soul inhabiting his body. He twisted, yanking and tangling the threads of potential that did not belong in there around his fingers. He could stop at any point, extracting specific moments, specific aspects, specific probabilities, the entire weave of this soul's existence laid out before his mind's eye. 

Essek felt the hungry pull of the beacon in his satchel, waiting and willing to consume the tethered soul. Or, he could disregard that pull, and unravel those threads utterly and completely. There would be no bringing this invasive soul back from oblivion. 

Essek realized that destroying this soul must be against everything that the Luxon stood for. It was snuffing out an individual and their potential for all eternity. It was everything that he feared and regretted. 

And yet.

Holding the weave of this soul in his hands, seeing Caleb’s rigid, furious, form sneering up at him, he felt no mercy. He had spared Astrid. He had spared Eadwulf. That was enough mercy for one day. He shredded the threads of the soul and crushed them into a singularity of nothing.

The light went out of Caleb’s eyes, and his body went limp. Yasha carefully eased herself off of him, pulling her hand from his mouth. She held a finger to the side of his neck, frowned, grabbed his wrist and did the same.

“His heart is stopped.” She said.

“No. Jester. Heal him.” Essek demands.

“I can’t! I don’t have any more spells!” Jester said, kneeling beside Caleb and pulling out her healer's kit.

“Caduceus!” Essek called, collapsing onto the floor next to Caleb. He barely felt the pain in his leg as bone shifted against bone. “We need healing!”

“I’ll be there in a minute!” Caduceus hollered from where he was hunched over Verin with a diamond clutched in his hand. He sounded more frazzled than Essek could recall ever hearing him. The pale fur of his arms was stained red nearly to the elbow. 

Essek frantically patted Caleb’s cheek, urging him to wake, to no avail. He called for Caduceus once more, voice pitched nearly to a shriek. Yasha tilted Caleb’s head up, and carefully poured a health potion down his throat, but he did not stir.

Once he had Verin back on his feet, Caduceus, Verin, and the rest of the Nein limped over to the group huddled around Caleb. 

“Caduceus, you need to revive him.” 

“I’m sorry," Caduceus said with such earnest gentility that it made Essek want to scream, "I can’t. We need more diamonds.”

“No, you need to do it NOW.”

“Essek.” Beau interrupted, rubbing her chest just below the clavicle where her coat and shirt were torn, exposing a dark, angry scar “We need to get out of here. We’ll take him with us. Regroup where it's safe.” 

Essek growled in frustration, and pushed himself back into the air with a pillow of weakened gravity. Caduceus eyed his leg with a deep frown. “Can you be healed now?”

“No time to find out.” He snapped, making pointed eye contact with Beau. Essek wasted another spell to gather Eadwulf in the air, too tired and too angry to ask for help. He dragged Eadwulf down the aisle and tossed him in a thoughtless heap next to Astrid. 

He withdrew the large pouch of ruby dust required for a forcecage from his component pouch. Drizzling the dust in a tight circle, he erected the shimmering prison around the two unconscious scourgers, trapping them until the Nein could get far, far away. “Now let's get out of here.” 

Yasha eased Caleb's corpse into her arms. Essek was so distracted by Caleb's arm swinging limp and doll-like, that he startled when Veth took his hand and squeezed it. Jester did the same on his other side. The rest of the group, save Verin, all bunched wearily into their traditional teleportation chain. 

He didn’t have the heart to tell them he had lied about that too, that he had just been selfish and touch starved. Not when Caleb hung limp across from him. Essek teleported them back to his room in the Archive.

\---

Yasha gently placed Caleb on the bed, and Caduceus placed a copper over each of his eyes, along with a pinch of salt, and gently smoothed the limp, matted hair from his face. 

Caduceus smiled sadly at Essek. “Just until tomorrow,” he promised. “Now, will you let me look at that leg of yours?” 

Essek toyed with the idea of turning Caduceus down. There were more important things to worry about than a ruined leg, but there was a silent pressure in Caduceus’s gentle gaze that Essek did not have the will to fight. He reluctantly signaled his agreement with a curt nod, shoving down a sudden apprehension that healing spells would still not work on him. It was just as well if it did not, it was no more than what he deserved.

Caduceus used a small knife to remove the ineffective tourniquet and slice away the leg of Essek's ruined trousers while Essek sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the coins shielding Caleb's eyes. “Huh,” Caduceus said, peering down at the wound with a perplexed expression. “It looks like there’s still a piece of the sword in there.”

“There isn’t.” Essek said quickly, grabbing for Caduceus's bony wrist before the firbolg could try and fish out the rods screwed into his leg. “The metal stays. Just heal it.”

Caduceus cocked his head in silent confusion, but did not argue with him.

For the first time in… Well, he still wasn’t sure how long he had been trapped in that light forsaken dungeon. But for the first time in many, many moons, Essek was healed by magic. It was such a strange sensation, like a leg waking up after being sat upon for too long, or effervescent bubbles popping and numbing the shattering pain, yet almost too painful in their own right. His body healed itself before his eyes, knitted together by Caduceus and his merciful Wildmother. He was whole. 

“There!” Caduceus said, patting Essek warmly on the knee. “You did it! Good as new.”

“Well. Good as old, anyway.” Essek amended.

Caduceus shrugged and sat back, folding his legs underneath himself. Even settled comfortably on the ground, he was not much shorter than Essek sitting on the bed. “It's the least I could do. You saved me."

"Oh, no," Essek held up his hands to halt that laughably incorrect assessment. "I didn't. Your friends did. It was my fault you were captured, I should be apologising to _you_."

"Well, since I count you among my friends, I think we still end up at the same place. Thank you for saving me."

For some reason, being thanked only made Essek feel more unworthy of praise. 

Essek wasn’t sure what he expected, but everyone wordlessly agreed to stay in his room that night. They all curled up with each other, talking quietly, occasionally dosing. Verin awkwardly introduced himself when Essek neglected to do so, and was met with a melancholy murmur of names in return. Essek and Veth held a silent vigil next to the bed. None of them mourned. They refused to. To cry was to admit they’d lost something, someone. And they were simply waiting. This was nothing more than an interlude. A bad dream. Nothing to cry over. 

Beau squeezed Essek’s arm. “You know, I half expected you to take the beacon and run,” she said quietly, staring down at Caleb with an exhausted, closed off expression. She had changed shirts, and her oversized tunic hung loose off her frame. Essek could see the angry scar on her chest peeking out from under the hem, and quickly averted his gaze.

“I know,” Essek said, “I heard you all talking on the ship.”

“It took balls, what you did back there.”

Essek just stared at Caleb, pale and still. He would have seen any of these people lying still and hollow on his bed if it meant there had been a diamond left for Caleb. Even, to his shame, his own brother. He wasn't sure how he could be considered brave, knowing there was an angry resentment gnawing at him, simmering just beneath the surface as he watched the Nein cuddle and rest and heal and Caleb _not_.

“You got it pretty bad, huh?” Beau said, interrupting his thoughts.

His eyes didn’t sting. He didn’t cry. His throat absolutely did not close up. Because Caleb wasn't gone.

“We’ll get him back,” she said, leaving him to his thoughts.

\---

Essek did not trance. Essek did not sleep. 

\---

Everyone awakened at first light, breaking into groups to get what they needed for the day. Essek kept watch over Caleb, and Verin kept watch over him. 

\---

It was still early when they all reconvened. The soft light that spilled into the room still rosey and gold, catching on the dust in the air and casting an almost lifelike glow upon Caleb’s cheeks. Jester stood beside the bed, holding her diamond in her hand. Artagan wrapped his hands around hers, and together they squeezed. The diamond shattered into twinkling, reflective shards that settled on Caleb's body like snow. Beside her stood Essek, and on the other side of the bed, Veth and Beau. The rest of the Nein huddled around them in a loose circle. Verin lingered quietly by the door. 

“Okay. Who’s gonna go first?” Jester asked, looking around the group expectantly. 

“Me!” Veth said, ignoring Beau’s small noise of protest. She leaned over the mattress, taking Caleb’s hand in hers. “You know, it would take waaay too long for me to find another leader for these guys as talented, and smart, and handsome as you. They'd be lost without you. And if you think I’m letting go of my partner in crime that easy, you've got another thing coming. We’ve got a good thing going here, and I’m not letting you weasel your way out of it. So, you’re _stuck_ with me.” She half leaned, half climbed onto the bed to rest a partially used vial of what Essek thought looked suspiciously like Sovereign Glue on Caleb’s chest. Beau and Fjord both groaned at her terrible joke. Unperturbed, she looked to Beau and nodded. 

“Hey, you massive nerd.” Beau said, wiping at her nose. Her eyes were red and irritated, and Essek couldn’t tell if it was from crying, lack of sleep, or both. “So, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about what would be a good thing to offer you, you know? I was thinking maybe a new spell scroll. Or like, a kitten or some shit. But then I realized I have…” she pulled a well worn paperback out from behind her back. “Exactly what I need. Right here.” She laid the book down on Caleb’s chest, next to the vial of glue. Essek choked, flushing dark purple at the title. _The Courting of the Crick._ “I think you need this more than me now, you know? And, oh. I think I might have just given hot boi here an aneurysm. So you’d better get a move on before we have to drag him back from the dead too.” She bumped her fist against his slack palm, “Us Empire Kids gotta stick together,” she said quietly, and stepped back, nodding to Essek with a sad, forced smile. He was torn between wanting to throttle her, and wanting to melt into the floor. 

“Listen. Caleb. I. I, um.” Essek shook his head, and flipped over the book so that he didn’t have the title jeering up at him while he tried to collect his thoughts. “I’ve never actually done anything like this before. My people- Or, I suppose they aren’t my people anymore, but they don’t believe in resurrection. So I’m sorry if I’m doing this all wrong. But we did it. We got Caduceus home. We got everyone home.” He swallowed, trying to clear the lump in his throat, “So now I need you to come home too,” he said, voice tight and reedy.

“You and your friends have been far kinder than I deserve, for far longer than I’ve deserved it. I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough, and I wasn’t brave enough to trust you. But you saved me anyway. Again, and again you saved me. In more ways than I can count. You give my life meaning where it had none. You make me _feel_. So, so much. You have offered me kindness and care, even when I did not deserve it. Even when I was cruel to you.

“I have very little to offer you but that which you asked for when we first met. Magic. All the magic I possess. I am yours, Caleb. My life is yours. My magic is yours.” With trembling hands he wrapped a platinum wire around his wrist, and again around Caleb's cold, slack hand, and offered Caleb the first of as many spells as he could give him. “You told me that we are bound, and that you feared what I would think when my memories returned, how my opinion might change. Well. I have my memory back Caleb. And I promise you that there is nowhere that I would rather be than with you. I-” Essek could feel the heavy gazes of the Nein on his back, and was suddenly terrified of what they might say, what they might do if he continued his dangerous confession aloud. He bent down, and whispered softly in Caleb’s ear, “I love you, Caleb Widogast. I think I always have. I think I always will.”

He cleared his throat and wiped his eyes, nodding to Jester. She gave him a gentle squeeze on the arm. “That was really good Essek.” She turned back to Caleb and finished her spell, clapping her hands together with an eager flourish. 

Nothing happened. The diamond dust glittered uselessly on Caleb’s chest. Essek's world shattered.

“No, no, _nononono_ . Come on, Caleb. _Please_ . You need to wake up.” Essek shook Caleb’s shoulders, blind to anything but the utter _wrongness_ of Caleb's hollow, unmoving body. “Jester, make it _work!_ ” he snarled. 

“I don’t know what’s wrong!” she squealed, her voice cracking, “The spell isn't taking!”

Artagan loomed curiously over Caleb’s body, extending a long, spindly finger to poke at his cheek. Essek smacked away his prodding, presumptuous hand. 

“Rude," Artagan muttered, shaking out his hand, but Essek didn't _care._

“Caleb, come on. You can’t do this to me, please.” Essek smacked Caleb’s face, too hard. If he were alive it would have left a mark, but instead coins and salt slid down Caleb's cheek and spilled onto the bed and his eyes were dull and unseeing and his light was _gone_. 

Essek was struck by an irrational, choking fury. That he had done so much. Been willing to do so much more. And it still wasn’t enough. It was never enough. 

Caleb had been right. He was damned. Finding happiness was too much a reward that he did not deserve. But Caleb deserved to be happy. Why should Essek get to live and not Caleb, after all that he had done? After how cruel and selfish he had been? After how much death and suffering and loss he had caused? After how many chances? How many failures?

“Take me,” he pleaded, to no one. To anyone. “Take me instead. Please. Please bring him back.”

“Essek…” Jester laid her hand on his shoulder, and he realized he was sobbing. And it _hurt_ . Like nothing had ever hurt before. It hurt his _soul_ . He was rent open and in two and he had never _felt_ so much before.

“Essek. Look at me. Do you hear me? I need your help.” Jester wrapped him in the gentlest hug, burying her face in his shoulder. He broke all over again, struggling to free himself from her warmth and her concern to cling to the clothes that still smelled like leather and brimstone and cat. “I need your help,” she said, “I need your brain.”

He shook his head. There was no point. There was no point to anything.

“Essek!” she said more insistently, shaking him by the shoulders. 

“WHAT?” he snarled past snot and tears. 

“You said he fell when he touched the beacon, right? Could he be stuck in there, like Halas and the Ruby?”

“I don’t- I don’t know,” he wiped at his face, but the tears would not stop.

“Do you think you could try looking for him in there? Maybe he just needs a little help.”

All he could see was the dead body. That’s all that was left of intelligent, goofy, kind, beautiful Caleb. Who made Essek laugh, and Essek think, and Essek feel. Who was gone. Jester rested one hand feather light on his shoulder blade, and held the beacon in the other. She was crying too, he realized, her eyes red and glassy. “Please. Just a quick look.”

He sighed and took the beacon.  
  


_“Luxon! He doesn’t belong to you! Give him back!” Essek shouts as his consciousness awakens to the vast expanse inside the beacon, but the Luxon is not there. All of his threads, past and future are shimmering bright in the void, spreading wider and further until they blot out the once black sky, leaving everything a blinding, shining silver, but Essek is alone._

_Essek calls for the Luxon, but gets no answer. Essek calls for Caleb, but gets no answer._

_“He doesn’t belong to you!” he says again, spinning in a circle, unmoored and disoriented._

_His heart hurts. He has never known how to navigate feelings. Connections. His heart has always been closed off, protected. From cruel people and their cruel machinations. From himself._

_Essek tears at those traitorous filaments tied so tightly around his heart. Desperately trying to sever them. To collapse back into the fortress of the unfeeling numb._

_On one, fine, delicate thread he feels the softest resistance. A gentle_ tap, tap _from somewhere in the aether. Essek pulls harder, pushes deeper, and begins to hear whispers. Each star in the sky has a voice and the universe is so bright._

_Essek tugs on the thread, over and over, hoping for another gentle tap. He wanders through the featureless void. Eternity stretches out before him and behind him, and space begins to lose its meaning as he is swallowed by the tides of time into an ocean of soft, ephemeral grey stars. Or, maybe they were motes of dust upon the wind, both infinitely large and infinitely small at once._

_There, at the end of the fragile thread, is a little red star, flickering faintly, snarled in filaments and knots while those motes around it drift freely in the endless sea._

_Essek hesitantly approaches the star. “Caleb?”_

_Tap tap, tap tap. Like a heartbeat._

_Essek carefully untangles the warren of threads and smoothes out the knots trapping the star. It is long, tedious work and the only sign of his progress is the star’s gentle pulsing, slowly getting stronger._

_Finally Essek plucks off the last filament and the star is free. He cups his hands and it settles there, warm and fleeting as an ember. “Come home,” Essek pleads, “Please come home.”_

_The star floats from his hands, and gently brushes across his forehead. Then it is gone and Essek is adrift. Alone._

_Essek leaves the beacon, cold and heartbroken.  
  
_

When Essek opened his eyes, there was a small white pearl nestled in his hand.

Not daring to hope, he hesitantly touched the pearl to Caleb’s forehead. Diamond dust gently floated up from Caleb’s body as if lifted by a gentle breeze, catching the sunlight and scattering little rainbows around the room. 

Caleb took a deep, gasping breath. Then another. And another. 

Essek choked. And laughed. And sobbed, an ugly, desperate upwelling of pain and relief and _love_. “Hi,” he croaked, waving a trembling hand.

Caleb wiggled a single finger, smiling tiredly up at him. “Fancy meeting you here.”

Essek wanted so badly to kiss him. To taste the miraculous breath that filled his lungs. But he knew he couldn’t. Thrice Caleb had told him to wait. Had told him he wasn’t ready. So instead he rested his palm flat against Caleb’s chest, feeling the _tap tap_ of his heartbeat under his fingers. Caleb sluggishly slid his hand atop Essek’s and squeezed.

Essek found himself crying all over again. Veth smacked Essek impatiently on the hand. “Scoot, scoot, my turn!”

He shifted down the bed, abashed and apologetic. By the time Essek thought to look for him, Artagan had disappeared. The rest of the Nein descended on Caleb as a swarm. Veth crawled on top of him and hugged him with all of her limbs wrapped tightly around him. Jester threw her arms around the both of them. Caduceus snaked his arms around all three. Beau was crying. Silently, and with far more dignity than Essek was. 

Yasha sat next to Essek. She leaned in to murmur in his ear. “Are you okay?”

Essek shook his head, wiping snot and sweat and tears on his sleeve. He didn’t even care that he was soiling his shirt. “It’s a lot,” he said.

“It is,” she said, nodding in agreement. “But I have learned that it is better to feel it, than to pretend it is not there.”

“Feeling hurts,” Essek said, punctuated by an undignified sniff to clear his nose. 

“It can, but it is worth it.” She gently rubbed a broad palm along his back, waiting until his breath evened out. Then she wordlessly slipped away to greet Caleb with a warm hug.   
  


Essek’s heart ached. Not just because of Caleb’s return. But because of the overwhelming love these people had for one another.

Their reunion was long and intimate and punctuated by both laughter and tears, until everyone had had their own turn to greet Caleb warmly and with open arms. Everyone but Essek, who hung back, feeling once again like an outsider looking in on a family to which he was not part. 

Verin settled in next to him, and bumped him with a shoulder. " _Hey_."

If asked, Essek would not have been able to put into words what feeling it was that prompted him to lean heavily against his brother's side, nor why he did not balk and squirm away when Verin draped an arm over his shoulder. It was a new feeling, one without a name.

 _"You did good_ ," Verin whispered. 

“Essek, could I have a word?” The group fell silent at Caleb’s request, Veth still curled up next to him with her head against his side, Jester clinging to his hand. Then Jester shooed at everyone to make room for Essek at the bed.

“Come on, Essek! Join the party!” She said. 

“Ah. Alone, actually? If you would not mind.” 

“Of _COURSE_ we don’t mind!” Jester gushed. Needing no more encouragement she set to herding as many people as could be managed with wide strokes of her hands. When she passed Essek, she jeered at him, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. She offered him an enthusiastic double thumbs up that Essek struggled to ignore. 

Veth reluctantly slipped from the bed as he approached. Verin lingered by the door, watching Essek carefully, until Essek urged him out of the room too with a sideways jerk of his head. 

The door clicked closed behind the crowd, leaving the two of them in heavy silence. The emptiness of the room was oppressive after so long with so many bodies crowding in the space. Essek couldn't help feeling singled out, like he was once again a child being scolded for less than perfect marks. 

“Hi,” he said.

“Hallo.” Caleb was still terribly pale. The color had not yet returned to his lips and cheeks, and dark shadows stained under his eyes. But his eyes, his beautiful day sky eyes, were bright and clear and perfect.

“How are you?”

“Tired. Who would have thought that dying was such hard work.” Caleb laughed weakly at his own joke. Essek scowled, unable to see the humor.

“Listen, Caleb, I’m so sorry. I remember, I’m-”

Caleb shook his head. “No, not right now. We will talk later when I’ve had some time to rest.”

“Of course,” Essek said, abashed, “Do you want me to leave?”

“No.” The way Caleb said the word, _no_ , Essek could almost imagine he heard another word in its place. _Never_. 

“Essek, can I hold you?” 

Essek had no more tears to cry. His face was puffy and his eyes dry and burning. He nodded, the tightness in his throat choking off any other answer.

He helped Caleb sit up, half laying on top of him as he wrapped his arms around his middle and buried his face against his chest. Essek squeezed with all his might. Counting Caleb's ribs and the rhythm of his heart. Breathing in the smell of his clothes. His nose caught on the sharp edge of Caleb’s clavicle, his breath humid against Caleb’s skin. He tangled his fingers into Caleb’s shirt and held him like he was adrift in the astral sea, and Caleb was his only lifeline. Because he was.

“You saved me,” Caleb said, his fingers carding slowly through Essek’s hair, making Essek feel like he was melting.

“I said I would.” Essek said, his voice muffled against Caleb's chest.

“You did.” Caleb smiled tiredly. Essek touched his face, brushed his hair, ran his fingers over the stubble on his jaw. Caleb leaned into the touch with a sigh. 

“I’m sorry I made you do that. You knew what would happen, and you did it anyway.”

“Essek. Look at me?”

Caleb’s hand stilled on the back of his head. Essek hesitantly peered up the incline of Caleb’s chest. The angle was awkward and hurt his neck, but he did not want to move.

“I could not have gotten everyone home. You did. You knew what had to be done, and you did it. I would help you again in a heartbeat,” Caleb said with all the gravity of a man who had already died once for his conviction. Essek felt equal parts humbled and humiliated. He buried his face once more, shielding himself from the severity of Caleb’s gaze. 

“Stay with me?” Caleb asked, “Please? I am getting very tired, but I do not want to be alone.”

“Would you prefer I get Veth?" 

“No," Caleb said, grabbing Essek's wrist before he could try and retreat. "I would prefer you.” 

Something fluttering and warm swooped in Essek’s stomach. “I- yes, alright. Let me get a chair though. As much as I love this, it’s a bit uncomfortable.”

“You don’t need to,” Caleb said quietly. 

Essek laughed, “Unfortunately, my legs would beg to differ.”

“No, I-” Caleb scooted over, grunting with the effort. “Here,” he said, patting the bed next to him. “There is room for both of us.”

Essek could feel his entire face burning hot. “Are you sure?”

“Ah, don’t get too excited,” Caleb teased, but it was gentle and warm, “Come, it will be like back on the ship.”

Essek awkwardly slotted himself into the bed next to Caleb. It was not designed for two people, but Caleb lifted his arms in invitation, and Essek slid closer until they were flush, with Essek’s head tucked under Caleb’s chin and Essek’s body tucked under Caleb’s arm. Then, after a moment, Caleb let go just long enough to grab Essek’s arm and drape it over Caleb’s own waist. He then settled Essek back to his chest with a tight squeeze. Essek traced his fingers over the shifting muscles on Caleb's back, silently, indulgently pleased when Caleb sighed against his hair.

“I have something I want to show you tomorrow," Caleb said softly.

“What is it?”

“A surprise, just something I’ve been working on. And I can finally give it to you. It’s not a bad thing, I promise. But I am a bit too tired to show you now.”

"Alright," Essek said. 

They both slept long and deep. And there were no nightmares between them.

\---

It was late afternoon when Essek stirred, feeling unusually calm and rested. Caleb was still sound asleep, the deep, heavy rhythm of his breathing a promise of his continued existence. He couldn’t bring himself to tear away, nor to wake Caleb. So he buried his face against Caleb’s chest and closed his eyes.

\---

“Essek. Are you awake?” Caleb whispered.

Essek glanced up at him. “Mm? Yes, what is it?”

“I desperately need to take a piss. But I did not want to wake you.”

“Oh, right, right.” Sorry.” Essek scrambled from the bed. The ambient air a cold chill where Caleb and he had been sandwiched together. He felt foolish, awkward. Like he shouldn’t be doing this. Like soon the other shoe would drop and Caleb would remember why he didn’t want him. He offered Caleb his hand, staring at his feet.

Caleb took his hand, and Essek helped him to his feet. They stood, awkwardly, shuffling in silence. Caleb cleared his throat. “Right. Well. I will be back in a moment.”

\---

And he was, but Veth and Beau were with him too. Caleb smiled a wordless apology, the women talking with animated, whole body enthusiasm about what Caleb had missed. About the fight. About Astrid and Eadwulf. About Essek’s magic. The resurrection not working right away. Essek, Essek, Essek.

Whatever spell had fallen over Caleb and Essek when they were sheltered in each other's arms had burst into a million tiny, uncomfortable shards. The longer he lingered, the more self conscious he felt. He could sense Caleb’s eyes on him and it was unbearable. He slipped from the room without saying goodbye.

  
Too late, Essek realized he had nowhere to go. Caleb was in his room. Uneager to face any of the Nein, He slunk over to Verin’s room, knocking quietly. He wasn’t sure he really wanted to see Verin either. The guilt of his willingness to sacrifice him for the sake of Caleb still lingering at the forefront of his mind.

“ _Hey there, hero_.” Verin greeted when he opened the door. He too looked exhausted. Though he had not been dead as long, he had been dead still. And Essek had barely spared him a thought. He was a terrible person.

“ _I’m not a hero_.” Essek said, cringing. 

Verin stepped aside, granting Essek room to slip into the relative safety of his quarters. “ _I bet your human would disagree_.”

“ _He’s not_ my _human_.”

Verin scoffed, loudly. He did not wait for Essek, nor ask for Essek to join him as he collapsed onto the couch with a weary sigh. “ _Sure. Right_.”

Essek sighed, drifting into the room after him, but far too restless to sit. “ _It’s my fault it happened in the first place_.”

Verin frowned. “ _Essek, you can’t think like that. You’ll drive yourself mad_.”

“ _It’s true though!_ ”

“ _No. It’s not_.”

Essek tangled his fingers in his hair and pulled, hard enough that it hurt, and explained away the burning in his eyes. “ _They were there because of my mistakes. All of their pain, all of their sacrifice has been because of me._ ”

 _“For fucks sake, the world doesn’t revolve around you Essek. By that logic it’s our Mother’s fault for having birthed you. Or it’s the Queen’s fault for having employed you. Or maybe it’s the Luxon’s fault for sitting by and watching_ !” He jabbed a finger in Essek’s direction. “ _You did some stupid shit. Own that. Not something you have zero control over.”_

“ _I don’t belong here._ ” Essek said, slumping into a miserable heap on the sofa across from Verin. “ _This will just keep happening to them_.”

“ _So you lied to a dead man, huh_?”

“ _What_?”

Essek couldn’t quite read Verin’s expression. It was hard, critical. He almost thought it looked like disappointment. “ _I heard you in that ritual. You promised him everything, Essek. You dragged him back from death, you promised him the world, and now you’re just going to walk away like that never happened_?”

He hadn’t really considered what it would mean if Caleb actually heard him. Actually remembered what he said. It had just been part of a spell. He had been honest because it was _safe_ to be honest. Because Caleb _wouldn’t_ remember. “ _He doesn’t- We have no idea if he even heard any of that._ ”

“ _I feel like you’re kind of missing the point_.”

Essek grumbled in frustration. He hadn’t come here for life advice. 

“ _Can I ask you something, Essek_?”

“ _Fine. Sure._ ” He owed Verin that much, and plenty more. More and more debts he could never hope to repay. He might as well start now.

Verin collected himself, folding his hands in his lap. He opened his mouth once, then twice, before he finally worked up the nerve to say something. “ _Why did you do it_?”

“ _Which part_?”

“ _Why’d you steal them_?” Verin asked, frowning.

Because he was an evil bastard. Essek supposed he had better get used to saying it. “ _There is no satisfying answer. Your guess was close enough. I was arrogant and impatient, and thought the world was a fair trade for what I wanted_.”

Verin’s frown deepened. “ _Then why turn yourself in_?”

Because the Nein happened. Because they plucked the scales from his eyes. Because they woke him from his eternal slumber. Because _Caleb._ “ _I_ _… didn’t think that any more_.”

They were silent for a few moments. The feeling of simmering discomfort was not lessening the longer he spent in his brother’s presence. With every sigh and grunt as Verin struggled to find a comfortable position, Essek’s guilt grew. He pushed himself to his feet. He had to find somewhere else to hide. “ _Oh. I, uhm. I remember the citadel. Thank you. For reaching out._ ” He still didn’t understand why Verin had run after him. What could have possessed him to embarrass himself like that, nor was it pleasant to imagine the wrath their Mother must have brought down upon him for ignoring her commands. 

“ _You’re my brother,_ ” Verin said, as if that was all the explanation that was needed.

“ _I want to teach you how to float_ ,” Essek said, pausing at the door.

Verin grinned. _“I’d like that._ ”

\---

Essek wandered the campus, wasting time, avoiding the Nein and their… Whatever they were. He couldn’t tell if they loved him or they hated him. Being alone was easier. Safer. Being alone meant not having to watch them fawn to Caleb and sing Essek’s praises, when Essek just felt dirty.

He hadn’t been thinking, and shouldn’t have been surprised that Caleb was still in his bed by the time night fell. Caleb had been dead. Caleb was allowed to be exhausted. 

But still. That meant that Essek wasn’t sure where he was supposed to go. He offered Caleb privacy, offered to stay with Verin. But Caleb wordlessly scoffed and scooted over, patting the mattress next to him. Essek was a weak man, he wordlessly nestled into the comfort of Caleb’s arms once more. 

\---

It was precisely noon the next day when Caleb informed Essek that he was ready to share his surprise with him. Essek was perplexed when Caleb assured him they did not even need to leave Essek’s room.

"Turn around,” Caleb said with an excitement that he normally saved for spellcasting, “And no peeking!"

Essek sighed, but did as instructed. He could hear Caleb casting, but did not recognize the incantation, and could hear the soft shuffle of gestures and components being scraped across the floorboards. Paranoid, a counterspell waited on the tip of his tongue.

Two warm hands snaked around his head and folded over his eyes. He flinched in surprise, but settled quickly. 

"Are you ready?" Caleb asked, close enough that Essek could feel his breath on his neck. He swallowed and nodded.

Caleb turned him around and gently guided him forward.

When Essek was allowed to open his eyes, he gasped. He was surrounded on all sides by breathtakingly beautiful stained glass. Nine panes, each depicting a school of magic in vibrant, exquisite detail. The inclusion of a dunamancy pane made something painfully sweet twist in his chest. He turned to Caleb, whose wide eyed hopefulness was even more beautiful still. “It’s stunning,” he said. 

“Yes! Oh, there is so much more to see, come on!” He dragged Essek up the stairs, and turned to face him, grasping his hands as if they were going to dance on the brass platform in the middle of the tower. Caleb’s smile was incandescent. “Now I can float like you,” he said, and his feet gently lifted off of the platform. 

“Wh-”

“Think up!” Caleb said, tilting over as he refused to let go of Essek’s hands, yet drifted higher and higher. 

Essek was too charmed to question him, and the moment he thought the word up, he felt his own feet leave the ground. He laughed. Caleb laughed with him.

Caleb was nearly vibrating with excitement as he dragged Essek through the whirlwind grand tour of his tower. While Essek recognised the spell for what it was, another one of Caleb’s brilliant little aesthetic modifications, he was unabashedly smitten with the results. The beautiful windows, the library, the fleet of cats, imbuing the tower with the lifeblood of Caleb’s dedication. Everything about it felt like a home. Warm, lived in, loved. Everything his own towers, and his Mother’s estate before that, had never been.  
  


When they had finished exploring the public spaces, Caleb stopped them on the fifth floor. There were three doors there. One with a scarab beetle emblazoned upon it. One the color of lilacs. And one that was the deep purple of Vermaloc wood, emblazoned with a white nonagram.

“This is your gift,” Caleb said, squeezing Essek’s hand. He opened the Vermaloc door.   
  


The walls of the entry room were covered, almost entirely, in bookshelves. This was save for a brightly flickering fireplace and a beautiful stained glass window of a large armilla situated against a starry night sky. Sitting below it on the mantle, was the smaller armilla Caleb had given him so long ago on the Nein Heroez. Much of the furniture was reminiscent of what had been in his own sitting room in Xhorhas. The wood was all deep purple, as if hewn from Vermaloc. He wandered the bookshelves, dragging his fingers over spines as he went. A few of the texts he recognized, required reading for any respectable mage. Some were in Zemnian, and he could not understand without casting a comprehension spell. But, to his deep surprise, the vast majority were written in Undercommon. “Where did you find these?” he asked.

“Beau helped,” Caleb said, “And the Soul helped. I told them I wanted as much as they could find. I admit, I do not know the academic merits of most of them because I could not translate them or they would not appear in Undercommon here, so I must err to your expertise. I did, ah…” He shuffled over to one of the shelves and plucked out a narrow, nondescript book from it. It was barely more than a booklet, with black binding and gold lettering. He handed it to Essek.

The cover was written in Undercommon.  
  


_The Impact of Graviturgical Forces on the Symmetrical Flow of Ambient Telluric Magics_

_Essek Thelyss  
  
_

Essek stared at the title, as stunned as if he had seen a ghost. 

Caleb reached over and flipped to the back of the booklet, to the final page. Glaring back at them was a portrait of a much younger Essek, stony faced and fierce. His cheeks were fuller, his chin softer, and his hair was pulled back in an unforgiving braid that made his forehead look huge. It must have been painted just before he had gone off to university and hacked it all off.

He vaguely remembered sitting for the portrait after an argument with his mother about the value of optics, but hadn’t realized it had been published anywhere. 

Below his brooding face was a painfully pretentious biography that portrayed his brilliance as equal parts his own inherent gift and the masterful influence of his den, not at all subtly name-dropping the inimitable Umavi Deirta Thelyss.

“You were a pretty cute kid,” Caleb said, wrapping an arm around Essek’s back and squeezing gently.

Essek found himself unexpectedly misty eyed. He touched the portrait with trembling fingers. 

“I’m sorry,” Caleb said, “I thought you would like it. I did not mean to upset you.” 

“No, I do. Thank you. I just realized this book, and the one Beau found, they are likely the only records that remain proving that I ever existed.”

“There is plenty of time for that to change. Bren Ermendrud is little more than a memory, but Caleb Widogast is doing some good work.”

Time. That’s all he had now, was time. Essek smiled grimly. “You think I should change my name then?”

Caleb shrugged. “You do not have to. But it is an option.”

Essek handed Caleb back the booklet, carefully extricating himself from under Caleb's arm. He wandered over to the coffee table and picked up the first book he saw. He raised an eyebrow, holding it up for Caleb to see. Caleb's face flushed beet red. 

“Aaah hah. Yes, well. I think Beau let that cat out of the bag, as the saying goes. All of the rooms have those books. It was a bit of a joke, for a long time. It doesn’t, uh… We found it before we met you, obviously. I will get rid of it, it will not be here next time. I’m sorry, it’s stupid.” His voice got progressively higher the longer his explanation dragged on. Essek snorted and shook his head, tossing the book back down onto the table. He picked up the heavier book on transmutation, and absently leafed through it.

“Another inside joke?” Essek asked, glancing up at Caleb, who had managed to find one of the many fey cats roaming the tower and was hiding his face in her black fur.

“No, just a bit of light reading," he mumbled from the comparable privacy of the cat’s fur.  
  


Caleb led him to the next room, the cat draped lazily in his arms. It was an almost perfect replica of Essek’s laboratory, save for where the doors had been placed into the walls, and Essek stopped in his tracks. He stared at Caleb, as awed by his memory as he was by the gift.

“Veth and I have one as well, two floors up. But I thought you might like your own, if you ever tire of us. I know you value your privacy. Of course, you are always welcome to join us as well, whenever you like. I just thought... we weren’t able to save any of your things. Not for real. So…” He gestured around the room, “I know it is not the same. And if there is anything you require, that is easy enough to rectify, so if-”

Essek hugged him tightly, the cat hissed and sprung from Caleb's arms before it could be crushed between their bodies. “Thank you.”  
  


The last room had more vaguely Xhorhassian furniture, though he did not recognize any of it as a direct copy from his home, which made sense. Caleb had never seen his sleeping quarters. The ceiling didn’t look like a ceiling at all. Instead, it was a twinkling, shifting night sky. The stars, and wide swathe of milky galaxy were bright enough that even with no other lighting, the enter room was bathed in a soft, even glow that cast barely any shadows. There was a black, four poster bed with shimmering gossamer insect netting in blues and purples draped over it, and the cyclical faces of Catha painted in silver on the frame. Dire Frumpken was nestled in one corner of the room. The black cat had found refuge on the massive plush, and was purring loudly. In another corner was set a privacy screen, painted to match the bed frame, and behind it a brass tub. 

It was not at all like his own bedroom had been. But Essek found he liked it better. It was soft, ethereal. His own had been stark and utilitarian. He rarely used it, and even more rarely entertained guests in it to justify being concerned about its appearance. 

“I didn’t know you had a bug problem in your magic tower,” Essek joked, because he knew if he said anything more serious, he would end up crying _again_.

“No, no,” Caleb said, smiling wistfully at him, “I just think it is beautiful.”

\---

Essek lost track of time the longer the two of them spent in the tower, quietly going through the books in Essek’s small library. Caleb told him about some of the Zemnian titles, and Essek did the same for those written in Undercommon. 

There was a loud knock on his door that made both of them jump. Essek bent to pick up the book he had dropped, and Caleb rushed to the door. He cracked it open and peered outside.

“CALEB!” Jester gasped, faux scandalized. “ARE YOU IN THERE WITH ESSEK? ARE YOU NOT WEARING ANY CLOOOOTHES?” Essek could feel the force of her grin from all the way across the room. Then he heard Veth’s scandalized screech join in with Jester’s. 

Caleb sighed, and cast Essek an apologetic glance over his shoulder before swinging the door open for Jester and Veth. “We are both wearing clothes, sorry to disappoint.” Essek waved in silent greeting, gesturing to his own state of dress to reinforce Caleb’s point.

Veth blew a raspberry.

“What did you two need?” Caleb asked.

“It’s almost six, we’re all getting ready for dinner!” 

Caleb swore. “I forgot.”

Jester leaned in, raking narrowed eyes over the pair of them. “ Are you sure you weren’t having like, crazy passionate sex? You don’t forget things.”

Caleb rolled his eyes, “Ja, you found us out. Crazy sex. All afternoon. Just. All over the tower. Including your bedroom. You might want to wash your sheets before you use them.”

Essek flushed. Jester grimaced. Veth cackled. 

“Hmph. Come on,” Jester said, her nose still wrinkled in disapproval, “Everybody’s waiting, it’s time to eat.”  
  


Watching the Nein eat was like watching a force of nature. They were loud and uncouth, free and overwhelming. He was forced to try waffles. And bacon. And a cloying, malty alcohol that made him wish he'd thought to buy wine. Verin was not so much forced to do the same, as dived headfirst into the fray with unbridled enthusiasm.

Verin fell in with the Nein like a well greased cog. Far more easily than Essek could ever hope to. He laughed and poked, joked and teased while Essek sat in awkward silence, waiting to understand the humor. More than once, Verin leaned down to whisper conspiratorially with Veth, making very intentional eye contact with Essek, while the two of them cackled about some unheard joke. They got along like a house on fire, and Essek feared for a world where the two of them were a united front.

Any time the conversation wandered back to Essek, he forced himself to smile and offered perfunctory feedback that he hoped was satisfactory, while simultaneously hoping that no one had realized that he had barely eaten, instead listlessly shuffled his food around on his plate. He felt Beau’s critical eye on him more than once, and Caleb kept shooting him lingering glances that muddled his insides. 

It was too familiar. Too much like their last meal together at the Xhorhaus, when he could have talked to them. Should have talked to them. Had made the calculated, objective decision to keep them in the dark that had cost him so much. 

His clothes were too tight, choking at his throat and his wrists, dragging at his skin like sandpaper. There were too many faces. Smiling, happy, laughing faces. All the faces he betrayed. Whom he did not deserve the first time, nor the second, nor the third time they saved him. 

His ears were ringing, mouths were moving around him but he heard no sound. He wiped at his face and pushed himself from his seat, hastily excusing himself. Essek could not bear to sit and float whimsically upwards to the safety of his prepared room. The thought of being stared at as he awkwardly ascended on Caleb’s spell was an absolutely unacceptable horror. He misty stepped up a floor instead, trying to make his retreat look like something, anything other than what it actually was.   
  


Essek was half blind from panic by the time he stumbled through his door and fell inside. He collapsed against a bookshelf, tucking his head between his knees and was wracked by dry, painful sobs. 

What had he done? What was he _thinking?_ How could he ever live with these people again? After what he’d done to them? How he’d treated them? How could he wake up every morning with the guilt of what he’d done? Not just for one lifetime, but an infinity? It was punishment. Well deserved punishment. No matter what the Luxon had said. He would live, on and on and on, with the knowledge that he was a _horrible_ person. That he was a liar and a traitor, a thief and a murderer, a torturer and a warmonger, a liar, a selfish, pretentious, arrogant, irredeemable _evil_ man. 

And in his arrogance he had dared wish for Caleb to _waste_ himself caring for him.

Caleb, whose only sin was being manipulated by men more powerful than himself. Essek was not Caleb’s foil

He was Ikithon’s. 

“Essek?” Caleb’s voice cut softly through the oppressive silence.

He could not bring himself to respond. He shrunk in on himself, hiding beneath the canopy of his arms.

“Are you alright? ...No. That is a stupid question. You are not alright. But, is there anything I can do?”

Essek shook his head. 

“Essek, I am worried. I cannot imagine this is easy for you.”

“I’m not the one who just died," Essek said, voice muffled by the cage of his limbs.

“No, but. You are the one who just got their memories back,” Caleb paused, then added warily, “And lost someone you… care about. I know from personal experience those are not easy things to deal with, even on their own.”

“I’m fine.”

“Essek, please talk to me.”

Essek glared up at him, “What do you want me to say? I’m a horrible person. I don’t deserve to be here. I have done more to hurt you, and your friends, and your people than I could hope to repay in a hundred lifetimes.”

“I know. I’ve known since Nicodranas, remember?”

“And yet you keep adding to my pile of debts knowing full well I can never repay them! A hundred lifetimes is not hyperbole, I’m _stuck_ with this knowledge for. For _thousands_ of years! In less than two centuries I have accumulated more debts than all of my Mother’s lives combined!”

“I don’t want you to _repay_ them, Essek. You can’t just repay your sins and wipe your slate clean, or I would have done that for myself.”

“Then what do you want from me? Why keep me here? Why save me? Why take care of me? Why spend so much time and effort and money getting a beacon, no, _two_ beacons for me? Why help me when you knew full well that you were going to be murdered and possessed for my selfish, stupid mistakes?” 

Caleb shuffled around so that he was kneeling before Essek, and took Essek’s face in his hands. “Essek, look at me. No, come here, _look at me_.” 

Essek reluctantly met his gaze. 

“This is not a transaction. We may have started out that way, you and I, but it stopped being a transaction the moment I saw you speaking with Ludinus.”

“I don’t know what I am. I don’t- My whole _life_ is a transaction, Caleb. If I cannot repay my debts, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

“Would you like to know what has helped me?” Essek shrugged. “ _Live_ , Essek. Leave this world a better place. Allow yourself to love, and to be loved. There may be times when you have the opportunity to bear witness to someone whom you have hurt, listen to them. Do not dismiss them. Accept them, and what they’re feeling. You may never be able to make things right for them. But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try.”

Essek thought of Yeza, who had seen him and found him wanting. “I don’t know how to do that, Caleb. It’s like. I just started feeling. Everything. All at once. And I can’t stop. I can’t turn it off,” Essek laughed wetly, “I think I’ve cried more in the past day than in my entire life.”

“You recall how I said you needed to remember something? Something that me telling you what you had done would not accomplish?”

Essek nodded, unable to bear the weight of Caleb's eyes he averted his gaze.

“This is it. This _feeling_. I cannot tell you how to feel. I cannot tell you how you felt that night in Nicodranas. I cannot tell you what I saw then, what I see now. But you need this. You need to feel this.”

“As punishment?” Essek asked miserably.

“No, Essek. As proof. You do care. You do feel regret. Your mind will tell you that you are a bad person. For a very long time. But I have come to realize that bad people do not think they are bad. Bad people do not feel guilt, or regret, or shame. And so long as you care, so long as you _keep_ caring, you are already on the right path.”

“This is terrible.” Essek laughed breathlessly.

“Ja,” Caleb said, running his thumb over Essek’s cheek, “It is.”

“Caleb.”

“Mh?”

“I’m so sorry.”

Caleb was quiet, searching. Essek felt as if his soul was bared on display, being weighed for its worth, judged for its countless crimes. Caleb’s eyes settled on Essek’s mouth, and Essek’s chest went tight.

Caleb tilted up Essek’s chin, and the pounding of his heart was deafening in his ears. He was frozen. This was a reckoning. This was punishment. This was not what he thought it was.

Caleb gently nudged their noses together and Essek squeezed his eyes shut, hiding behind them, steeling himself for the very real possibility that he was merely desperate, and desperately misinterpreting the situation. He was weak. He was so weak. 

Caleb’s lips upon his were chapped and cool and _perfect_.

Essek whined against Caleb’s mouth, yearning, hungry, and utterly unbidden. He flushed dark, horrified of how desperate he must have sounded being taken apart by a single, chaste kiss. He struggled not to push. Not to take more than he was granted. Not to grab Caleb’s shirt and hold him there forever.

When Caleb pulled away, there was a peculiar catch in his breath. His hands held tight on either of Essek’s cheeks and he wiped the tears from Essek’s face with the pads of his thumbs.

“I forgive you,” he whispered, and kissed him again. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO SORRY TO KEEP YOU GUYS WAITING. Hopefully the. Uh. 17.5k words make up for it. 🙈 As usual unbetaed. Concrit welcome! 
> 
> Explicit tags for this chapter in the End Notes if you want to check them out. If folks feel like the porn completely ruins this, let me know in the comments, and I'll try and edit a clean version so you can still enjoy the last chapter without it. 
> 
> Bit of German in this chapter, but pretty standard Shadowgast German lol. 
> 
> And last but not least! My playlist for this fic if anyone wants to check it out! Songs aren't specifically tied to individual chapters or events, but kind of flow in the same general direction as the fic.  
> https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLF2BzZagwT2cx-sReMt7I4usJk9IeEojw

Noontime came too soon, and Essek nearly did not meet up with his brother for his send off. Too nervous and too reluctant to admit he cared as much as he found himself caring. But Veth hunted him down and dragged him along, leaving him no room for argument as she sternly waxed on about the importance of family. He had never told her about meeting with Yeza, and wondered if Yeza had told her what had happened. If they’d had time to before everything went to hell. The look she gave him was not unlike the wrathful indignation of his own mother. And he found himself ill equipped to deny her, regardless of his apprehension. 

Verin was surrounded by the Nein, all talking with a happy, easy warmth that Essek found himself envious of. When Verin saw him, he pushed his way through the group to clap a hand on Essek’s shoulder. Essek wobbled under the weight of the gesture. 

“ _I don’t want you to go_ ,” Essek said quietly, wishing Verin would hug him like he hugged Jester, or Caleb, or Veth, but far too self conscious to initiate on his own. 

_“I’m sorry_ ,” Verin said, “ _I wish I could stay, but duty calls._ ” 

Duty. Maybe that's what made Verin a better person than him. Maybe that's what made Caleb a better person than him. Essek had always chafed under the weight of duty. 

_“You’ll visit again? I really do want to teach you that spell._ ”

Verin nodded, glancing back over to the Nein. “ _Yeah. I will. As soon as I’m able to take more time off_.”

Essek followed his gaze, Beau was watching them with particular scrutiny, while the rest had the decency to pretend to be occupied. _“I think they’d like to see you again too. They seem to like you.”_

_“They’re pretty good people, huh?”_

“ _Yes_ ,” Essek admitted reluctantly, _“I suppose they are.”_

“ _Essek_?” Verin turned his attention back to him and Essek found himself shying under the weight of it. 

“... _yes_?”

“ _You, um. ...You know what, nevermind.”_

“ _No, what is it?”_ Knowing was better than not knowing and his mind helpfully filling in all the horrible things it might be. 

_“I was just going to say, you’ve surprised me. The past couple days. A good surprise. I’m happy for you.”_

“ _Happy_?” Essek said, disbelieving. His life had fallen apart, and he with it. He had no idea what there was to be happy about.

“ _Yeah. I think these guys are good for you. I know. I know that this isn’t where you imagined you’d be. But I don’t think I’ve ever seen you care about someone like this before.”_

Essek glowered, and continued glowering through Verin’s ensuing hug, and continued glowering as he returned the gesture.

Verin laughed and mussed his hair. “ _Yeah, yeah. You don’t need anybody. I know.”_

 _“Don’t you have somewhere to be?”_ Essek muttered.

“ _See you later, Essek.”_

 _“Goodbye, Verin._ ” 

His brother left with one of the Soul mages, to be returned home. Or, more likely, back to Bazzoxan. Essek wasn’t allowed to know for the sake of security where, precisely, his brother would be going. Some small, quiet part of him was worried. Worried that his brother would meet the same fate as his father. Worried that place was cursed. 

Essek sighed, and slipped away from the group as they hollered their final farewells. He needed quiet to mentally prepare himself for the “group meeting” that he suspected would decide his fate. It wasn’t scheduled until later in the day, but he _knew_ about it. And knowing meant he was _thinking_ about it. About what he had to offer. Why he deserved to stay (why he really didn’t). What he would do if they didn’t want him. Where he would go if he was found unworthy. He thought he’d reach out to Yussa if worse came to worst. Resign himself to continuing to watch Caleb from afar. Always orbiting, never quite getting close enough to belong. 

\---

They were once more in the dining room of Caleb’s tower. This time Essek was forced to try macaroni and cheese, and another breakfast staple they called pancakes (which to him, seemed exactly like waffles, except in a very slightly different shape). He found the first tolerable, but the second, drowned in syrup and berries and cream, to be far too cloying. He did remember to ask for wine instead of ale, and probably drank too much of it on far too empty a stomach, but he thought he’d vibrate out of his skin if he didn’t. 

Conversation was maddeningly normal. His anxiety skyrocketed anytime anyone took a particularly deep breath, bracing himself for the inevitable. But the inevitable never came. He didn’t realize he was tapping his foot until a hand settled there, heavy and secure. He startled, but Caleb’s grip remained a firm weight stilling his leg. Stopping him from fleeing.

Essek drained his third glass of wine and flagged down the nearest cat for more, but Caleb stopped him with a warm hand over his and a disapproving frown. “I think you’ve had enough,” he said, and Essek wanted to scream. 

Essek couldn’t take it anymore. He swallowed hard. “So, ah. What now?”

He was met with a table of surprised, bemused faces. 

They talked plans, though he was gently informed that most planning sessions waited until _at least_ the first round of dessert. They talked next steps. Who they wanted to visit, who they wanted to check up on. Where they wanted to go next. 

The Assembly loomed, a threat to more than just Essek until it was dealt with more permanently. Leaving Astrid and Eadwulf alive had been good for Caleb, but ruinous for… pretty much everything else. Too many witnesses. 

They asked Essek for his thoughts. His feedback. What he knew of the Assembly, and its people. Whether he felt comfortable in the Empire if he were disguised, if they needed to figure out other means of infiltration for him. They treated him as useful. Trustworthy. Included. Never once did the conversation stray to whether he was staying with them or not. It was simply a foregone conclusion. 

They would go to Rexxentrum and see whose pies they could stick their fingers in (an idiom Essek had never before heard). Essek would stay in disguise in public, and would stay behind if they went anywhere a little too close for comfort. He would keep Caleb’s medallion. It might not help while he was with the Nein, but alone, it would be an added measure of security. If he had to teleport away, he would be safe. He would be alone, but he would be safe. Better to hide under your enemy’s nose, Beau said. 

He was terribly confused, but Caleb’s hand lingered on his leg for the remainder of both the meal and the discussion, holding him steady. And when, afterwards, Caleb asked him what was wrong, Essek couldn’t quite find the words to explain. Not out of evasiveness, but because he was thrown so horribly off balance that his paranoia struck him as foolish. What had happened?

Was getting his powers back that formative? Was sobbing wretchedly the prostration they needed to accept him into the fold? He didn’t understand these people at all. And worse, he found himself wishing he did. 

\---

Perhaps he was biased, but Essek had grown to love the color, the sea air, the bustling, ever changing ebb and flow of the Menagerie Coast. Even if the oppressive glare there was a searing brand on his eyes that left him with an eternal squint, even under the protection of hats and parasols and whatever else Jester thought to throw at him on a given day. 

And perhaps his bias was reinforced by growing up on tales of the barbaric Empire. 

Everything about Rexxentrum was oppressive. Dingy. Wet. The sky, the roads, the overwhelming human population. All red brick and yellow stucco in identical, repetitive row houses that made Essek feel as if he had fallen into some mirror world. 

Caleb was a bundle of excited nerves. Pointing out this building or that among the identical facades. Going on about how it had all meant so much to him. There was love there, Essek thought. Though he could find no redeeming qualities in a city that seemed to sag under the weight of its age, like the humans who crafted it. Even the infamous university, gothic towers propped up in more red. So much brick. Even that, so full of terrible memories and terrible people, Caleb’s gaze lingered upon with a fondness that Essek struggled to understand. 

They bought a perfunctory room in an inn that smelled like hops and mildew. They were all going to stay in Caleb’s tower overnight, so it hardly mattered. Since Essek committed to offering his teleportation services, it was silently decided that Caleb would handle their accommodations, and Essek their travel. There was no debt. There never was, he had to constantly remind himself. This was what he signed up for. This was what friends did.

He did insist they buy his chalk though. 

The Nein had managed to secure a dinner with a representative from the crown, some chancellor or another that Essek was unfamiliar with. Everyone, himself included, had agreed that Essek should stay behind for the meeting. If a drow was discovered disguising themselves in the home of a state official, even if by some miracle it wasn’t immediately evident who the drow was, the outcome would be poor at best. So he was stuck in this damp, human inn, in this damp, human city. Just for a bit. Just until Caleb came back.

He touched the amulet around his neck, and stared at himself in the greasy mirror mounted on the wall.

He didn’t recognize the man looking back at him.

Essek was vain, he knew he was vain. It was a quality that had been instilled in his from a young age. Make the best impression possible. Give no one a reason to think they are better than you. Be intimidating and untouchable. Make people want you, but never give them what they want.

He used to be an attractive man.

The ghost staring back at him had freckles staining his complexion from so much time spent in the sun. His once fine, aristocratic nose was ruined. His hair was frizzy and dry from the sea air, hanging low over his brow. And when he pushed it away from his forehead, the ugly scar there ruined his hairline, not even considerate enough to align with his natural part. He was not as smooth as he used to be. He had lost fat from too many skipped meals, and gained muscle, forced to work and walk, giving him a rangy, hard angled physique.

He looked _poor_.

Essek sighed. He pulled on the black tunic that Yussa had given him. Ran his hands over the smooth, fine fabric and took an indulgent moment to enjoy the feeling of silk on his skin. He was tired of scratchy cotton and coarse wool, and he hadn’t even realized it until his memories returned and he recalled what good quality cloth felt like.

With a practiced wave of his hand, Essek disguised himself. Painted away everything ugly and coarse, styled his hair just so. With fine, illusory jewelry adorning his neck and hands and ears.

He rubbed his hand over the silk shirt once more, and imagined he was someone important…

“What are you doing?”

Essek jumped, hastily dispelling the illusion as he whipped around to see Caleb leaning against the door frame with his hands crossed over his chest. “Nothing!” He blurted, before he could even think of how ridiculous that must sound. 

Caleb raised an eyebrow. 

“What’re you doing back so soon?” Essek winced when his voice cracked. 

Caleb sighed. “The Chancellor took ill, apparently. We didn’t even get to see them. We sat around for twenty four minutes while their majordomo fretted over how to get rid of us. What were you doing?” 

Of course he wouldn’t let it go. “I’m thinking of cutting my hair,” Essek said, turning back to the oily mirror. It wasn’t an answer, not exactly. But he hoped it was distracting enough to be accepted as one.

Caleb came up behind him and rested his hands on his shoulders. Essek didn’t miss how they smoothed over the silk fabric. “Like it used to be?” 

“I’m… would that be inappropriate?” Essek pushed his hair up off his forehead, trying to coiffe it like it once had been, for real, not just as an illusion. All the remaining volume on the sides of his head stuck out at odd angles and made him look more manic than anything. 

“You would be a little easier to identify at a glance,” Caleb said absently, “But that is the only drawback I can think of.” 

Essek sighed and let his hair fall back across his forehead, tufts poking defiantly in different directions. He twisted around in Caleb’s grip to look up at him. "So, I suppose I should just resign myself to looking like a vagrant?" 

Caleb smoothed down his scruffy bangs, grinning crookedly. “Do you have something against vagrants?”

Essek pursed his lips. “No… but that doesn’t mean I want to look like one.” 

“We could put you in a leather harness,” Caleb said, wiping under Essek’s eye with two of his fingers, “Put some dirt on your face.”

“ _No_ ,” Essek laughed and pushed Caleb’s hand away with a grimace. 

Caleb laughed with him, and Essek had to bow his head to hide his smile. Why did that make him so happy? He doubted he would ever tire of Caleb’s laughter. His joy. His mouth. Just. All the things involved. 

He wanted to kiss that laughing mouth so desperately. But the few kisses they’d shared had all been initiated by Caleb. And all had been… comforting. Nothing that could be considered overtly, unequivocally romantic. He still wasn’t sure how much more Caleb wanted from him. If anything. 

“Caleb?”

“Yes?”

Essek was overcome with sudden nerves, the last time he’d tried to kiss Caleb, he’d been turned down. He didn’t think he could bear to be turned down again, and instead almost asked him something inane and pointless to do with haircuts. “Can I kiss you?”

Caleb’s expression went soft, his smile almost shy as he nodded. “Of course.”

Relief was a weight lifted from his shoulders he hadn't realized he was bearing. He licked his lips, nodding, reassuring himself. Gathering the nerve to reach out, Essek smoothed his hands over Caleb’s shirt. He pushed himself up on his tip toes, and was still too damn short. He tugged on Caleb’s shirt and Caleb helpfully bowed his head. 

When their lips touched, Caleb smiled. 

It made it very hard to kiss him, but Essek found himself smiling too. “You’re ruining it,” Essek complained, though there was no heat behind it.

“Am I?” Caleb said, “maybe you should try again.”

Essek scoffed and kissed him again. Caleb smiled again. In exasperation, Essek took Caleb’s face in his hands and smooshed his cheeks together. He pressed his mouth clumsily against Caleb’s forcibly pursed lips. “ _There,”_ he said triumphantly, releasing Caleb’s face.

“Oh, ja. You showed me,” Caleb said. He was smiling again. 

Essek shook his head, chuckling under his breath. 

“I think you look beautiful,” Caleb said, apropos of nothing. 

“What?”

“You do not need expensive clothes, and expensive jewelry, and expensive hair to be beautiful, Essek.”

In a fit of defiant pique, Essek threw his disguise spell back up, and it was the Shadowhand scowling at Caleb, gathered tall and proud with the assistance of his levitation. “If you tell me that this is not an improvement over what I am stuck with now, you are lying.”

Caleb brushed his fingers over Essek’s face, down the bridge of his nose. He lingered over the disguised break. The gesture was so soft, and so gentle, and Essek found himself both hating it and yearning for more in equal measure. “You have always been lovely to behold,” Caleb murmured, “But that is not what attracted me to you.”

“No, I do believe that was my magic.” Essek said wryly. 

“Essek, I care for _you_ . Magic or no magic. Beauty or no beauty. It’s _you_.”

Essek could hardly argue that. Caleb had already proven himself both capable and willing to stick with him through both scenarios. Though this reassurance put a significant hamper on Essek’s self loathing that he didn’t appreciate. “Well, I’m glad we agree that I am no longer beautiful,” he said, aiming for teasing, but falling more closely to self depreciating. 

“Ach, you are twisting my words. Your broken nose,” Caleb kissed his nose, “Your scarred face,” he kissed his forehead, right where the scar was, even though Essek had not dropped the glamour, “Your long hair, “ he kissed the top of his head, “They are all beautiful to me. Now stop trying to convince me otherwise. I won’t have it.”

Who was Essek to argue with that? Even if he did not agree, he did not have the energy to bicker. 

In the end, he did cut his hair, because it needed to be cut, and he loathed split ends, but he decided maybe it was time to try something new. Maybe he didn’t need to chase what he used to have. He kept it long. He could always cut it later. 

\---

The Nein had stopped in Zadash for the day, to pick up supplies and visit contacts. One, Pumat Sol, Essek liked quite a bit. The other, Jester’s father, he liked less. He never trusted a man without a name. 

They had more errands to run, but Jester insisted on staying at the Evening Nip for a few drinks so she could, so far as Essek could tell, attempt to set her father up on a date with her mother, before they pressed onward. 

“Do you know what today is?” Caleb asked, sliding into the seat next to Essek. Beau glanced between them briefly, but Veth said something that Essek didn’t hear and the rest of the group burst out in laughter, drawing her attention away and leaving Essek to run through their schedule in a panic.

Had he forgotten a meeting? Was he supposed to teach Caleb something today? He had no idea, and the more he wracked his brain, the more panicked he felt. “I’m. I’m sorry, no. I don’t”

Caleb didn’t seem disappointed, or even surprised. “One year ago today, you and I met for the very first time.”

Really? Had it been that long? Or that short? How could a year feel simultaneously like an eternity and an instant? A year since Caleb brought back his stolen beacon, dirty and defiant. How much these people had changed his life in so short a time. He would still be Shadowhand, he thought, had he never met them. He wasn't sure if that would have been a good thing or not. 

“I- Wow.”

Caleb smiled and held out a small wooden box. Dismayed, Essek shook his head. “I didn’t realize I was supposed to get you anything. I’m so sorry.”

Caleb shoved the box at him more insistently. “It is fine. Just a silly excuse to give you a gift. Just take it, please.”

Essek reluctantly relented. He flipped the lid on the box open. Inside was a stone, polished like river rock, small enough to fit in a palm, with a face carved upon it. “It is a sending stone?”

Caleb nodded.

“I- thank you. But do we not both have the sending spell?"

“Well…” Caleb scratched the back of his neck, “Actually, I never got around to learning it. But the other stone is not mine, regardless.”

Essek was only more confused. “Then, whose is it?”

“Try it, find out.” Caleb urged, grinning in such a way that Essek was immediately suspicious. He cast him a dubious look. “It’s safe. I promise.”

Essek sighed, and squeezed the rock in his hand, willing it to activate. “Hello? I have been instructed to contact you?”

There was a short pause. The response came back in Undercommon. 

“ _I see you got your fancy anniversary present! Glad to hear from you. I hope to see you soon. Tell Caleb I said hello."_

“It’s Verin,” Essek said.

“It is!” Caleb said, beaming with excitement. “Now he will be able to contact you directly if he needs to."

“He says hello.” Essek said, too surprised to come up with something more eloquent.

“Oh, good! Hallo Verin!” Caleb said to the thin air. 

Essek snorted, “ _Caleb says ‘hallo’ back_ ,” he said, poorly attempting to mimic Caleb’s accent, “ _But I suggest you two get your own sending stones in the future, rather than waste my spells._ ”

“ _I feel so honored that you would grace me with one of your precious spell slots._ ”

Essek rolled his eyes, but did not waste another on a response. “Thank you Caleb, truly. That was very kind of you. I feel like I should give you something in return.”

“No! No transactions,” Caleb reminded him. 

“Not as a transaction. I _want_ to. Let me teach you a spell later?”

“I never say no to new spells,” Caleb said, leaning in with a conspiratorial grin, “Are you teaching me Sending so that your brother and I can gossip about you?”

Essek blushed, and then scowled, disappointed in himself for blushing. “ _No_. I mean. That wasn’t the one I had in mind. If you really want to learn Sending, I could teach you that instead.”

“Well, what is the other one?”

“It’s called Temporal Shunt.”

“Temporal?” Caleb asked, a peculiar, hungry edge to his voice that Essek wasn’t quite sure what to make of. 

“Er, yes. Essentially, it forces someone to jump ahead a few seconds. You can interrupt an attack that way, or a spell. There are other applications as well, if you’re feeling clever, but at its most basic, that’s what you can expect.”

“Really? It is a time travel spell?”

Essek wrinkled his nose in distaste. Time travel sounded so trite. “Well, I think that’s over simplifying it just a little, but yes, I suppose it is a-”

Caleb didn’t let him finish, “Yes, that one.”

“Oh. Okay then. When would you like-”

“Right now,” Caleb said, standing up from the table. The squeal of wood against wood made Essek shudder. “Right away. Frumpkin, let's go. Would you like to do this in the tower?”

“Oh, sure? That would be nice.” 

Caleb all but dragged Essek away from the group, loudly announcing that they would be back later, and to finish the shopping without them. 

“Make good choices!” Veth hollered after them.

“Make _bad_ choices!” Jester suggested at counterpoint.

Beau making a gagging noise was the last thing Essek heard before the Nein’s jeering was swallowed by the ambient din and Caleb’s hurried footfalls.

Caleb wasted no time in casting his tower spell, and all but dragged Essek up to the library. He spread out his spell book, his transcription supplies, and his components wide out in front of him on one of the coffee tables. He perched eagerly on the edge of the sofa there, bouncing on the seat cushions like a child. 

“Well, you’re not going to need those,” Essek said, gesturing to Caleb’s component pouch as he leafed through his spell book, hunting for the pages on Temporal Shunt. It was strange, all of the writing, the annotations, the diagrams, they were all in his handwriting. But the ink glittered silver in the light. He never used metallic ink, but there it was. The pages branded with his signature by the power of the Luxon. He still found it unnerving to behold. Maybe that was the point.

He held out his book, opened to the page the spell started on. “Let me know if you have any questions on the transcription. Then I’ll help you out with the practical.”

Caleb nodded, but was already staring at the book with a burning intensity. 

“Alright… well, I’ll be back. I’m going to grab something from my room to read, alright?”

Caleb hummed absently, his only acknowledgement that Essek had spoken.

Essek grabbed a number of books. Mostly Zemian titles that he hadn’t had the time to look through yet. On a whim, he also took his thesis, which Caleb had decided would sit on his coffee table in place of the _Courting of the Crick_ whenever he summoned the tower.   
Once he had returned to the library, Essek pulled off his shoes and nestled onto the couch next to Caleb, shoving his toes under Caleb’s thigh to keep them warm. Caleb gave his ankle a gentle squeeze, but did not look up from his work.   
  


Essek spent the next few hours reading through his thesis, making mental notes of things he would change, wrinkling his nose at the occasional clumsy phrase, or immature word choice that the editor had not been brave or competent enough to correct.

He wondered if he should revisit his research. He had the time now, after so long bemoaning how it had been pushed farther and farther to the sidelines in the face of his ever growing bureaucratic workload. In retrospect, he half suspected that was the primary reason for his overwhelming list of duties. To keep him focused on something slightly less sacreligious. He had to chuckle in the silence of the library. If it were true, it had backfired _spectacularly_.

The basic principles of his thesis were still sound but in the, _Light_ , nearly _eighty years_ since he’d written it, both the content and methods of his research had developed a finesse that were woefully lacking in the writings of his younger self. Though all of his hard copies had no doubt been burned, he realized with a sudden wave of melancholy. So much knowledge, up in ash. Wasted because the Dynasty was too afraid or too stubborn to acknowledge progress. Wasted because he was too young and too proud to accept such an ultimatum. He still had a good enough mental record to reconstruct a fair bit of his armillary research, but what he wouldn’t give to see even a fraction of it restored. 

Essek got distracted staring at the portrait in the back. So very young, and so very angry. Angry at everything, at everyone. Ready to fight the world. He wondered if he wouldn’t have done the things he’d done if he had been a little happier.

One of the fey cats, a white thing with orange and black splotches, hopped onto the couch and curled up in the middle of Essek’s book, hiding his brooding younger self. Essek sighed, carefully extricating the book from underneath her and placed it on the relative safety of the coffee table. She _mrrp_ ed, and kneaded her claws into his lap, dragging her tail over his face. He grimaced. “Make yourself at home.”

The cat folded herself into a loaf and started purring, and who was he to deny her when she butted her head against his hand with a demanding mewl. She was warm and pleasant in his lap. Time seemed to stretch, and the world went a little fuzzy around the edges the longer he stroked her fur. Perhaps cats possessed some innate dunamancy of their own.

“Essek?”

He inhaled sharpy, opening his eyes. (When had he closed them?) “Yes? What?”

Caleb was smiling at him, and his face was so terribly soft.

“What?” Essek said, blinking blearily around the room for signs of trouble.

“You fell asleep with Mabel. It was very cute.”

Essek glanced down into his lap. The cat, Mabel, was draped half in and half out, sound asleep but still purring loudly. He stroked her ears. “Did you need something?”

“Uuuh, ja… here.” Caleb pointed to a line in his spellbook, “Am I understanding this correctly, that the individual who is shunted does not retain any memory of the inciting event, or the travel period?”

Essek nodded, rubbing his eyes. “Correct. Imagine taking a string and cutting it, then retying it a little bit further down the string. There will be a tail of excess, right? The target does not remember, because for all intents, they did not experience the missing time.”

“Ah,” Caleb sounded a little disappointed, “Do you suppose the spell could work in reverse? Cutting the string and tying it a bit further back than it had already traveled?”

“I have never attempted to shunt anyone back in time. It would serve no purpose.”

Caleb turned to face him, leaning forward to punctuate his argument, “You could stop something from happening before it happened!”

“Caleb, what happens when you pull on a severed string? It begins to unravel, and then where does your starting point go? And the farther back you go, the more string you risk unraveling. You would be just as likely to cause something else to happen that would not have otherwise. Too many variables for the energy expenditure. Forward is safe. Backwards is not.”

“Ah. So be it.” Caleb almost sounded _angry_ , though at what, Essek couldn’t imagine. Essek frowned at him, gently nudging his thigh with his toes. “Just give me a little while longer,” Caleb said with a sigh, taking back Essek’s spellbook. “And we can begin on verbal somatic work.”

Essek nodded and closed his eyes again, gathering Mabel back into his lap.

“Mabel! Get back to work, you lazy thing. It’s my turn with Essek now.”

Essek was awoken once more by the cat grumbling and sliding off of the couch, leaving Essek’s lap cold. He watched her go, frowning at the loss. “Are you ready to start?”

Caleb nodded eagerly, and turned to face Essek so his feet also lost their warmer, though he was quickly distracted by the joy of watching Caleb wrangle a spell. Caleb was always exacting in his gestures. It seemed like he only needed to get it correct once, and it was ingrained forever. Machine perfect each and every time after that. 

But between the two of their accents, the incantation took longer to master. It always did.

They had been practicing for nearly an hour together and Caleb was getting frustrated.

“It’s alright,” Essek soothed, “This is the most advanced chronurgy spell you’ve been taught. It’s fine that it’s taking a while. One more time. Remember, ‘aevo’ is eye-wo, not eye-vo.”

Caleb sighed and repeated the incantation.

“ _Wooooh_ ,” Essek said, “Hold out the ‘o’ just a little bit longer.”

“ _Aevo._ ”

Essek nodded, “Good! Yes. Much better. Do you want to try it for real now?”

Caleb gave him a dubious once over, like his ego had taken a hit after being corrected so many times. But he reluctantly nodded. “Ja, alright.”

“Alright. I’m going to punch you. No comments about my terrible swing if I actually manage to hit.”

“It can’t be any worse than mine.”

“I wouldn’t count on that.” Essek muttered and shifted closer so that he didn’t have to lean halfway across the couch. The first attempt, he hit Caleb in the shoulder, and Caleb got the biggest, most shit eating grin on his face. Essek bristled and covered his face with his hands. “I said not a word!”

“I was wrong,” Caleb said, laughing at him, “That was definitely worse.”

“Ugh, you’re horrible!” Essek grumbled, irritated and self conscious and-

He blinked. Caleb wasn’t laughing anymore. Caleb was staring at him.

“ _Brilliant_.” Caleb said.

“Uh. What?”

“You. Are. Amazing,” Caleb said, voice filled with awe. 

“Wh- did you do it? To clarify, I didn’t create that spell.”

“Yes!” Caleb said, throwing his hands in the air in triumph. “You disappeared, and then you were back! And I don’t care. You are brilliant.” He punctuated this by crossing the distance between them for a kiss. “And beautiful,” and another. “And amazing.” To his nose, to his cheeks, to his mouth. 

“And you’re silly,” Essek said, leaning into his affection with a small, self conscious smile. Ever since he had caught Essek pining away in front of the mirror, Caleb had been (in Essek’s opinion) overly indulgent in his praise of Essek’s appearance. Which did nothing to resolve the vain discomfort that lingered in the back of his mind, but it was charming. Even if it made him squirm.

Caleb cupped Essek’s face in his palms and kissed him properly, and with such fondness that sulking felt like letting him down. “I am happy.”

“I do love seeing you happy.” Emboldened, Essek crawled into Caleb’s lap. Caleb held him with two hands light on his hips, which was delightful but unnecessary, as Essek had no desire to move. They sat there, looking at each other and smiling like besotted fools. Essek tucked Caleb’s bangs behind his ear and kissed him softly. 

Essek wasn’t sure how long they sat there, trading gentle, indulgent kisses. Nor how long it took him to work up the nerve to run his tongue over Caleb’s lower lip, praying that he would not be stopped for being too forward. Caleb sighed as if he had been waiting for permission to do the same, inviting Essek into his mouth with eager little caresses. 

Essek wasn’t sure how long they sat there before they traded finesse for wet, messy, open mouthed desperation. Essek’s skin burned, raw and chapped from the scrape of Caleb’s facial hair. Caleb’s fingernails digging half moons into Essek’s hips and Essek tangling his fingers in the hair at the nape of Caleb’s neck. Essek only pulled away when his lungs started to protest and his head started to feel light. He tipped his head back, gasping for air, and Caleb latched onto the exposed skin of his neck, marking him with a dark bruise. 

Essek’s hips stuttered forward unbidden, and he groaned loud in the quiet library when he felt the press of their half hard cocks dragging against one another. They both stilled, panting hard in the humid air that had settled between them.

“Was that okay?” Essek asked nervously, bracing for rebuke.

Caleb squeezed Essek’s ass, “Do it again.” 

Essek rolled his hips experimentally. Caleb’s eyes slid closed and his kiss swollen mouth fell open. “Good?” Essek asked. 

Caleb nodded wordlessly. 

Essek balanced himself with his hands on Caleb’s shoulders and rolled his hips again, and again, torn between watching the tiny shifts in Caleb's expression as he slowly came undone, and stealing clumsy, open mouthed kisses that left him panting. 

He did not last long before the ghost of a cramp threatened to lock up his hip. He sighed, reluctantly tearing himself away. “I’m sorry. I need to move.”

Caleb lazily shook his head, and kissed Essek’s hair. “Don’t apologise,” he murmured. One hand slid up Essek’s back to brace between his shoulder blades, and Caleb scooted closer to the middle of the couch. He turned them both, and leaned back so that he was reclining with his legs up on the cushions. 

Essek stretched out, tangling his legs with Caleb’s until he was laying flush against Caleb’s chest. He spent a long, indulgent moment lingering there, listening to the frantic beat of Caleb’s heart, committing to memory the heated pressure of Caleb’s arousal against his own. 

After a moment, Essek offered another languid roll of his hips and Caleb’s hands settled back on his ass, squeezing encouragingly. With the new angle, Caleb could use his grip to help push Essek along, lessening the strain on Essek’s hips. For which Essek was wordlessly, earnestly grateful. The tradeoff was he could no longer reach Caleb’s mouth, so instead he nosed aside the collar of Caleb’s shirt, and sucked a dark bruise on his clavicle. Claiming him back. He scraped his fingernails over the hard edges of Caleb’s ribs through his shirt. Caleb whimpered, and Essek thought it was the best sound he had ever heard.

There were a few long, lazy moments where the two of them luxuriated in the roll of their bodies against one another, the only sound in the library the soft shuffle of fabric, and the warm crackle of the nearby fire. 

With little warning, Caleb choked on a broken cry, stilling Essek with an iron grip as his own hips stuttered desperately up against his pelvis. Essek winced, the frantic grinding of fabric against his sensitive cock just over the edge of discomfort. 

Caleb went boneless beneath him, chest heaving in a desperate attempt to catch his breath. “Mhsre,” he whimpered. 

Essek couldn’t even tell what language he was speaking, but Caleb looked wrecked. Face flushed red, hair clinging to his face, it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He pressed his forehead to Caleb’s sternum to give himself something to focus on other than the desperate need to adjust himself in his trousers. 

“M’sorry,” Caleb repeated, finding his voice and finally letting up on the vice grip that pinned their bodies together. “I’m so sorry.”

Essek leaned up to kiss him. “Don’t apologise,” he said, throwing Caleb’s words back at him.

“It has been. An embarrassingly long time,” Caleb admitted, squirming as if the mess in his smallclothes was beginning to bother him. “Just give me a moment.”

“It’s alright,” Essek said, content to kiss at his rough jaw, nip at his neck, suck on his peculiar little human ears. 

Caleb sluggishly turned his head to capture Essek’s lips with his own. “What do you want me to do?” 

Something in the phrasing caught Essek off guard. A hot, hungry flip in his stomach as it brough unbidden thoughts of all the things that he wanted Caleb to do. But probably shouldn’t say. “Anything,” he said, “Or, or nothing. You don’t have to if you don’t w-” Caleb cut him off with another kiss. 

“I want to,” he said, and then went silent, thinking. “Can you roll over?”

Essek frowned. “What?”

“Roll over, so we are facing the same way.”

Bemused, Essek did as he said, settling back against the warmth of Caleb’s chest. Caleb propped them up against the arm of the sofa, and then lifted a finger to Essek’s mouth, gently playing with his lower lip. Caleb’s other hand snaked down his stomach and played with the hem of his trousers. “Can I move these?” He asked, his breath hot and unsteady against Essek’s neck. Essek nodded eagerly, lifting his hips to help. 

Caleb pushed his waistband down just far enough to free Essek from his trousers, and Essek moaned in relief. Caleb laughed in his ear and kissed the side of his neck as he wrapped his fingers around Essek.

Caleb’s fingers dragged experimentally along his foreskin. His first touches were careful, calculated, curious. Too light to be satisfying, just enough to make Essek whine in desperation. Caleb touched him like he was a specimen under glass, to be catalogued and observed. An experiment. Essek squirmed in his lap, frustrated and impatient. “More,” he begged, more _anything_. 

Caleb tightened his grip into a loose fist in long, glorious drags and Essek keened in approval, closing his eyes, settling heavy against Caleb’s chest.

There was a soft, steady stream of indulgent praise murmured in Essek’s ear, and he was utterly unprepared for how intensely it affected him. Oh, how he was brilliant, Caleb whispered, how powerful, beautiful, intoxicating. Essek bit his lip, strangling anything louder than ragged whimpers as Caleb moved his hand faster, twisting his clever fingers over the head of his cock. His movements were punctuated by soft, obscene noises, his fingers smearing precome over both of them. 

Essek groped blindly for the back of Caleb’s neck, tugging impatiently at a fistful of hair. Caleb hissed in his ear when his fingers found purchase. He ran his fingers over his chest, scraping the fabric of his shirt over sensitive skin, desperately pinching and rubbing at one of his nipples. “Little more,” he whimpered, “Please, Caleb.”

Caleb’s grip tightened by a fraction as he quickened his movement. Essek tried to spread his legs wide, but trapped by his trousers, was forced instead to squirm restlessly, hips twitching in a fitful attempt to meet Caleb’s hand. 

“Come on,” Caleb said, teeth scraping the shell of Essek’s ear, “Come for me.” 

One, two, three strokes later Essek spasmed, curling in on himself, biting his lip so hard he drew blood. Come spattered his rumpled shirt, and dribbled overed Caleb’s fingers. Caleb indulgently milked him through his orgasm, whispering soft, fond Zemnian in his ear. “Stop,” he croaked, grabbing Caleb’s wrist when touch became overwhelming. “ _Fuck_.” 

Caleb kissed his neck.

Essek could barely hear his thoughts over the pounding of his heart. He slumped against Caleb’s chest to catch his breath, settling with a contented sigh. Caleb drew sticky little symbols on his stomach, holding him close, and Essek never wanted to move again.

“So…” Caleb cleared his throat. “That was a thing,” he said, when so much time had passed that their silence wavered on the precipice between intimate and awkward. Caleb's tentative words lit a fire of paranoia in Essek. An insidious, ugly little monster that threatened to ruin his contented glow. Telling him he pushed too far. Presumed too much. 

Suddenly self-conscious, Essek cleaned them both with a clumsy gesture and tugged his trousers back up. “A good thing, I hope,” he replied warily.

Caleb buried his face against’ Essek’s neck. “Would have been better if I had not come in my pants like a teenager,” he muttered. 

Essek laughed nervously, running his nails through the fine hair on Caleb’s forearm. “We could always try again another time?” It was as much an offer as a plea for confirmation that he hadn’t just screwed up this fragile thing between them. 

“Mmh. That sounds like a good idea,” Caleb murmured. And Essek felt like he could breathe again. 

\---

Essek would never admit it, but he regarded the loss of the extracted dunamis as one of his greatest. It was so new, so different, and with the Nein, and the war, and his subterfuge, he had scarcely had a chance to examine it, much less unlock its secrets. 

He was also secretly curious if such an extraction would be considered sacrilege, or precisely what the Luxon wanted. If it was desecration, or creation. Corroborating his last few communications with Ludinus, Caleb’s experience with the scourger program, and Essek’s own observations of Caleb’s scourger friends in battle, the Empire was pushing hard for the battle ready application of dunamis. 

Even if he was not reporting directly to any one government, Essek felt like it was his duty to try and at least keep pace with them. It gave him something to do when the Nein (the rest of the Nein, he had to remind himself, he was supposed to count himself among their number) were attending to business in the Empire that he could not accompany them on. Made him feel like he was still contributing. 

Caleb had once absently suggested they ask Yeza to consult, but Essek still hadn’t worked up the nerve to contact him again, nor to explain to Caleb why he was avoiding doing so. So he had flippantly hand waved his reluctance as wanting to do his research with Caleb, and Caleb alone. And wasn’t he just as pleased as a sated cat when Caleb’s eyes went a little dark, and a little hungry at the suggestion.

It took them three weeks before they were able to extract even the smallest drop of dunamis from the beacon using activated residuum and an adaptation of the Luxon’s Soul Siphon spell. (They would not have given it to him, if they didn’t want him to use it, Essek had told himself). 

Veth joined them, when she could. But she took increasingly frequent trips to visit her family, now that there were two spellcasters capable of teleporting. So it wasn’t that they were avoiding her contributions in the lab. It was that she was in Nicodranas, with her family. And there was always work to be done.

The easy touches had returned over time as Caleb and Essek danced around one another. Had returned and become more daring by increments. What might once have been a hand on the shoulder, became a hand slid down the ribs. A careful hand to the small of the back were fingers digging teasingly into hip bones as they steered each other around. Occasionally, indulgently, they would pause, stealing little kisses as they shifted around the lab. It was soft and simple, and almost as good as the thrill of discovery, of magic, a little spell in its own right. 

Essek was squinting through a loupe, hunched over the little vial of dunamis, trying desperately to separate it into two samples. But any time he applied even the slightest bit of suction, the entire mass oozed its way up the syringe. He had tried cutting it, suctioning it, freezing it, heating it. And could not get it to let go of itself.

“How are things going?” Caleb asked, not for the first time.

Essek turned to him, exasperated. “Exactly the same as they were when you asked me five minutes ago.”

Caleb snorted, “That was a half an hour ago, actually.” He held up an empty mug, and used it to gesture to another full mug, from which no steam rose. “You didn’t even notice when Lionel came in with drinks.” 

Essek wrinkled his nose in distaste. “You shouldn’t be drinking in here anyway.” 

“Are you going to tell the laboratory police on me?” 

“I am the laboratory police,” Essek muttered, just annoyed enough to infuse the words with the edge of a legitimate threat. This was why he worked best alone, he thought. No one to tell him when to work, or when to be done, or to be impatient with him when he wasn’t conforming to their schedule. No one to think they knew better than him how he should spend his time. “Just give me a little while longer. Once I get this separated, I’ll be done for the day."

Caleb sighed loudly, and slumped onto a stool. “Very well. Far be it from me to get between a man and his esoteric fluids. I will distill some more aqua fortis for Veth while I wait.”

Essek nodded and returned to work. Then, as an afterthought added, “Thank you.”

Caleb was quiet for a long while, save for the clinking of his tools, and the occasional tiny spark of fire. And Essek was content to focus back on his own project. His own maddeningly unproductive project.   
  


Until.

“Excuse me."

Caleb snaked both arms around Essek’s slight frame, reaching for something on the table beyond him. He could feel Caleb’s nose buried in his hair. “I need the alembic,” Caleb murmured into his ear. “You are in the way.”

“That sounds like a personal problem,” Essek said, trying and failing to sound disinterested. 

Caleb laughed against his neck, one of his hands settling heavy against the middle of Essek’s back. He pushed, gently, until Essek was forced to bend forwards, down over the lab table. Essek strained to keep himself balanced, to not dislodge the vial of dunamis nor to end up face first on the disgusting work surface. 

Caleb’s chest brushed against his back, and his hips bumped into Essek’s ass as he leaned over for the alembic. And everything burned, every searing inch that their bodies touched was like a brand. 

Caleb stood, his prize in one hand, Essek’s hip in the other, waiting for… something. A reaction presumably. 

Bent over the table and breathing hard, Essek scowled at Caleb. “I suppose you think you’re terribly clever.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about.” Caleb said, “I just needed this,” he waggled the alembic in front of Essek’s face. 

“Then by all means, get back to work.”

Caleb deflated and sulked back to his station and allowed the alembic to fall into the still with too much force, the glassware clinking loudly. He glanced one last time at Essek who was waiting for him to continue with eyes narrowed in expectation. 

Reluctantly, Caleb did.

What felt like only moments later, Caleb rested a hand on Essek’s shoulder. “Essek. You’ve been trying to separate that dunamis for an hour and a half with no luck. I’ve finished proofing the residuum papers, I’ve finished my spells for tomorrow, including practicing that new cantrip you showed me. I’ve finished making the aqua fortis. And you’re still staring at that vial. You need to take a break.” 

Essek growled, turning to sneer at Caleb. “I didn’t realize I required a secretary to dictate my schedule,” he snapped. 

Shock was written plainly across Caleb's features. His shoulders sagged and his playful pestering withered away into something dour. “Do you want me to just leave you alone?” 

_Yes_ Essek almost said. Yes, leave him alone. Let him work. This was _important_. But something in Caleb’s expression stopped him. A lonely, desperate yearning that he understood all too well. He sighed. “No,” he muttered. “I’m sorry. I’ll stop.” 

“I can make it worth your while?” Caleb offered hopefully. 

“And how is that?” Essek asked, carefully corking the dunamis vial, and tucking it back into its pocket dimension. 

Caleb took a cautious step towards him, and then, when Essek did not rebuke him, another, draping his arms over Essek’s shoulders. “Would you like me to show you?” 

Essek cast a sideways glance towards the beacon gently pulsing an arms reach away. He felt suddenly, incredibly watched by the featureless, humming grey light. And perhaps that was just projecting, but he glared at it, and shunted it away to its pocket dimension too. Caleb laughed and nudged Essek’s legs apart with one of his knees. “Not an exhibitionist?” he asked jokingly.

“No,” Essek said, perhaps too curt. He couldn’t afford to be an exhibitionist. 

“That’s alright,” Caleb murmured, sliding his hands down Essek’s sides. “I am not inclined to share you.”

Essek sighed, closing his eyes as Caleb kissed him. Essek was not one to wax poetic, but he swore Caleb’s mouth was a balm for his soul. He had some enchantment on his lips that Essek did not have the will to resist. It was impossible to stay cross with Caleb nipping at his lip. 

Caleb gently pushed until Essek was butted up against the table, and without thinking, Essek reached back to catch himself, jostling ceramic and glassware. Caleb nudged his legs wider and Essek had to brace his weight on an elbow to keep his balance

“This is terrible,” Essek said, sighing as Caleb bent over to suck on his neck. “Do you know how unsanitary this is?”

“I do," Caleb said, kissing his jaw. “It’s exactly as unsanitary as the library.” He kissed his clavicle. “Or your living quarters. It’s brand new.” He dropped to his knees between Essek’s legs and peered up at him through heavy lashes. “And will cease to exist when we are done with it.”

Essek rubbed his face. Caleb dragged his tongue up his clothed groin and all of Essek’s hygienic indignation crashed around him like the retort he nearly sent crashing to the floor. Caleb continued to reverently mouth at the front of his trousers until they were damp and uncomfortable and Essek was pushing him away to unbutton them and shove them down his thighs. 

Caleb smiled up at him, and holding eye contact, placed a tender kiss to the head of his cock. Essek wished, not for the first time, that he had Caleb’s memory. That he could sear this image into his mind and never forget it. 

Caleb was in no hurry, and seemingly delighted in torturing Essek with light, teasing licks along his length, his balls, the insides of his thighs. He blew cool air on the wet trails his tongue left behind, and Essek exhaled hard. “Surely you can find a better use for your mouth,” he snapped impatiently. 

“Still so grouchy,” Caleb lamented, and wrapped his lips around Essek. Caleb’s mouth on his cock short circuited something in Essek’s brain. He arched his back, and tangled his fingers in the cascade of ginger hair falling around Caleb’s face. Caleb hummed in approval, and it made Essek’s toes curl. 

Watching Caleb swallow him completely, with such ease and such eagerness, the pale skin of his nose pressed flat against the dark purple of Essek’s pelvis filled him with such a feeling of belonging that it caught him off guard. He whimpered, squeezing closed his eyes and distracting himself from the sudden, overwhelming, feeling of intimacy with the mental equations for the oscillations Ruidis exerted on Catha’s orbit.

Caleb pulled himself off of Essek, a thread of spit clinging to his lip, and Essek whined in protest. “You can make noise, you know. These rooms are soundproof,” he said, looking up at Essek.

Essek swore, his thought hopelessly lost somewhere in the middle of the outer binary equation. Caleb swallowed him back down. He dug his hands into Caleb's hair and fisted his fingers in the long, silky strands.

Caleb groaned around him, and Essek could feel it in his bones. He tugged once more, and Caleb groaned again, purposefully, bottoming out against Essek’s belly and holding his gaze. Essek could get drunk off of Caleb’s expression, bright blue eyes blown black, a flush matching his hair painting his cheeks in splotchy red. Caleb butted his head back against Essek’s hands, and Essek was happy to oblige him. 

When Essek had nearly pulled him off of his cock, Caleb paused, again searching for his gaze, silently pleading. 

“You like me pushing you around?” Essek asked, throat suddenly very dry. 

Caleb nodded as best he could, holding the head of Essek’s cock reverently between his lips. Essek gently pushed Caleb back down, and was met with no resistance. Caleb swallowed Essek easily, making Essek weak in the knees. He whimpered, hesitantly fucking into Caleb’s mouth. Then again, with slowly growing confidence as Caleb went pliant under his hands, gaze glassy and warm and hungry. Caleb swallowed him down, eager and willing under the insistent snap of his hips.

It was so much. Too much. Caleb’s mouth was hot and tight and so, so much better than anything Essek could have dared to imagine. Essek wrenched his hands away, unsure what Caleb wanted him to do. “M’close,” he warned. 

Caleb slid his hands around Essek’s hips, and dug his fingers into the meat of his ass, holding him flush against his mouth as he swallowed hard, over and over. He stared up at Essek like he was something holy to be worshipped. Essek came with a broken cry, curling down and around Caleb, holding his head still in trembling hands while his hips stuttered through his orgasm. 

Caleb tapped insistently on his hip, and Essek released him with an apologetic grunt. Caleb pulled away with a deep, gulping gasp that left Essek feeling a twinge of guilt. 

Essek shoved his sweaty hair out of his face, leaning back on the bench to catch his breath and watch Caleb, still knelt on the floor, fumble with the ties of his trousers.

“Wait,” Essek said. Caleb blinked owlishly up at him, “I want to help.”

“What do you want?”

“I…" Essek hated this, hated guessing. Wished Caleb would just tell him what he wanted. “I want to touch you.”

Caleb spread his hands wide, as if saying, here I am, but there was no way Essek could kneel comfortably on the floor. His legs would revolt. They’d both be miserable. “Stand up for me,” he said, pulling his trousers back up his hips. As Caleb pushed himself to his feet, Essek turned to shuffle frantically through the vials and jars on his work table, looking for anything that could be used as slick. 

Caleb tapped him on the shoulder, “Looking for this?” he asked, holding out a small vial of oil. 

Essek frowned, taking it from him. He didn’t recognize the vial. “Where did you get this?” 

“Magic,” Caleb said, wiggling his fingers. But his face was beet red, and he wasn’t quite meeting Essek’s gaze anymore, and Essek got the distinct impression that a more accurate answer might have been ‘my pocket’.

Essek rolled his eyes, working open the flies of Caleb’s trousers so that he could tug them down over his hips. Humans had so much hair, he thought, running his fingers through the soft auburn curls that trailed down below Caleb’s navel. The muscles in Caleb’s stomach clenched and Caleb made a peculiar sort of choking, snorting noise, and when Essek glanced up to see what was wrong, Caleb’s face was all scrunched up in an almost pained expression. “Are you alright?”

“Ja. It just tickles a little…”

Humans were so strange. He pulled away, murmuring an apology.

“You can do it,” Caleb explained, “Just not so light.” 

So Essek did, sliding his hand more purposefully down Caleb’s stomach to wrap around his cock. He squeezed it once, gently, and dragged his hand back up, watching Caleb's expression flutter into an approving little smile. 

His hands trembling in equal parts anticipation and nerves, Essek struggled to uncork the vial. In his haste, he managed to spill the oil all over his vest, both hands, and the floor. He scowled, embarrassed and annoyed, and blamed the vial on principle. 

Caleb chuckled, and Essek scowled at him too, casting the vial aside so it could make a mess somewhere else. "There's no rush," Caleb said, nosing at Essek's hair until Essek finally tilted up his chin to meet him for a kiss. "I'm not going anywhere."

"I've waited so long for a chance to touch you, Caleb. Excuse me if I don't want to waste any more time." 

"I thought time was your specialty,” Caleb said, a sharp, almost accusing edge to his tone.

Essek paused, unsure how to take such a pointed jab. He looked up, but Caleb was smiling at him, the corners of his eyes creased in silent laughter. A joke, then. He shook his head, "Time got away from me."

They both laughed then. Foreheads pressed together fondly as they shared in the absurdity of the conversation.

“Tell me what you were thinking,” Essek said, wrapping his oil slicked hand around Caleb and giving him a proprietary squeeze. 

Caleb sighed. “Thinking when?”

Essek smeared his free hand through Caleb’s hair and gave it a gentle tug as a reminder. “When I was fucking your mouth.” 

Caleb whimpered. “I was thinking how beautiful you are. How much I-” he paused, “how lucky I am to have you.” 

“You know what I was thinking?” Essek asked, seeing how far Caleb would let him pull his head back. Far, as it turned out. Caleb balanced himself with his hands on Essek’s arms while Essek sucked a bruise onto his pale neck. “I was thinking how perfect you looked, swallowing me down.”

“ _Yes_.” 

“Like you were made for me,” Essek breathed, exhilarated and reckless with Caleb trembling in his hands. “Like we were made for each other.”

“ _Yes_.” 

“I’ve wanted you for so long, Caleb. Nearly as long as I’ve known you. So often I found myself wondering what you felt like.” He bit at Caleb’s throat. “What you tasted like.” 

“Do I live up to expectations?” Caleb asked, gaze dark and hooded, meeting Essek’s hand with demanding little nudges of his hips. Essek anchored him there with the hand at the back of his head, and kissed him clumsily.

“You exceed them,” Essek hissed, twisting both hands. “In everything you do, you are exceptional.”

Caleb laughed, brows furrowed in concentration. Little broken fragments of Zemnian that Essek could barely catch passed his lips between messy, uncoordinated kisses that stretched time out into something liminal and unimportant.

“I want to see what you look like when you come undone for me,” Essek said when they parted for air. “I want to hear you say my name.”

“Essek,” Caleb whined, and Essek found himself once more amending his favorite noise.

“Again,” Essek said, tugging his hair and biting at his jaw.

“ _Ess-_ ” Caleb’s voice cracked as he fell apart in Essek’s hands. The most beautiful, perfect, broken mess that Essek had seen in a century of life. Caleb shuddered against him, breathing hard and Essek held him close.

Once Caleb stilled, Essek made a show of bringing his hand to his mouth. Licking clean each finger as lewdly as he could possibly manage. Caleb watched him, enthralled. 

They kissed, tasting themselves in each other’s mouth.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” Caleb said raggedly.

“Not if I can help it.” 

\---

“Essek!” He could hear Caleb calling from the hallway, whom he reluctantly ignored. “We are going to be late, Essek! Come on, I’m sure you look wonderful!”

Essek didn’t feel wonderful. He felt like an idiot.

Jester had _promised_ him that Caleb would love his suit. Had promised him that he would love his makeup. And his jewelry. Had promised that he would love his necktie, but when she fastened it around his neck, all Essek could think of was a heavy metal collar choking him, and he tore it off and refused to try another. So instead, she had brought him pretty delicate chains fixed with opals that fell long and loose over his chest, spilling over his clavicles like water, and promised Caleb would love those instead.

Now, all done up in shifting pearlescent fabric, with silver lining his eyes and shimmer on his cheeks, and fine silver chains dangling from his ears and neck, he could only think of the vision the Luxon had shown him. He could only think he looked like an Umavi. Like his mother.

“Essek! We are going to lose our reservation!”

Essek swung the door open and scowled up at Caleb. Caleb, who was wearing the same black dress robes with the red lining that he had worn to the gala. And Essek felt even more foolish. “I can’t go,” he said, “I can’t wear this.”

Caleb stared at him. Essek looked away, face burning. “Essek. You look-”

“Yes. Like my mother, I know. That’s the problem.”

Caleb shook his head. “Essek, you look _transcendent_.” 

That did nothing to ease the ball of nerves roiling in Essek’s stomach. This was a bad idea. “I’m sorry, I can’t do this.”

Caleb deflated, but nodded reluctantly. Everything about him seemed to shrink in on himself. He scratched the back of his head, mussing with the delicate braids woven in at his temples, and making the golden cuffs secured into them glint in the flickering lamplight. “Okay. Um. I will see if Yasha and Beauregard want to go. They might be able to make it in time.” He looked pathetic. It broke Essek’s heart. 

He sighed, defeated by Caleb’s pitiful display of unflappable understanding. “No. You’ve been talking about this for weeks.”

“But I do not want you to be uncomfortable. That defeats the purpose.” 

Essek went to rub his face, remembered the makeup and stopped himself. “My pride will survive. My heart might not though, if I have to watch you mope around like a sodden kitten.”

“You are sure?” Caleb asked, holding out his hand. 

Essek sighed and nodded, wrapping his fingers around Caleb’s. “As sure as I’m going to be.”

Caleb beamed, and Essek couldn’t help but wonder if some of his disappointment was melodrama put on for Essek’s sake, with how quickly he bounced back from it. He kissed Essek on the corner of the mouth and tangled their fingers together. “For the record,” he said as he led Essek down to the lobby of the Lavish Chateau, “I think you look much more lovely than your mother.”

Essek nearly tripped. “Wait. When _did_ you meet my mother?” 

“Oh. Ah. When I was petitioning for your release.”

“Oh.” Essek’s imprisonment was still a subject that could only be broached very intentionally, and under very specific circumstances. Ideally when he had nowhere to be for a few days afterwards, and plenty of people who were available to stay near to him if things went poorly. Some days he could talk about it for hours with cold, analytical detachment. Others, just thinking about it left him utterly unable to cope for days afterwards. It was not a conversation to be undertaken on the way to the first date the two of them had managed to secure without the company of the rest of the Nein. And so he reluctantly had to file that information away for another time.

“How far are we going?” Essek asked once they had escaped into the cool evening air. The sun was low enough on the horizon that Essek did not need to squint, but Caleb could still see. The sky just started to alight in strokes of rose and orange.

“It is a bit of a walk. You can float if you’d like. I don’t mind.”

Essek squeezed his hand gratefully, easing himself just barely off of the ground. Once, he had made a point of being able to stare Caleb in the eye. But now he found he didn’t mind having to look up at Caleb. Or, perhaps more accurately, having Caleb looking down at him.

He didn’t know what they were doing. Caleb had stubbornly refused to tell him. Had only gotten this goofy pleased-with-himself grin whenever Essek had asked. Had promised him that the dress code was _formal._

Which made Essek all the more confused when he realized they were heading to the harbor. 

And straight onto the pier.

And straight to a yacht flying Xhorhas colors.

Essek stopped as soon as he saw it, falling back to his feet so that Caleb couldn’t pull him along without realizing. “What are we doing?” He asked warily. 

Caleb turned to him and squeezed his hand. “It’s a private vessel. There’s no military on board.” He took Essek’s other hand and brought them both to his chest. “It’s been vetted by both Beauregard _and_ Verin. I promise. It’s okay. Please trust me.”

Essek looked back to the yacht, strung up with fairy lights that glistened between its two masts, and what looked like tables set up on the deck. People were milling around aboard, more than one was wearing something that glittered in the twinkling lights. He made a small, nervous sound and glanced back at Caleb who nodded encouragingly.

Essek was more than half certain he was walking to his death. But he did it anyway.

They were met at the gangway by a large bugbear stuffed rather impressively into a tuxedo. He had comically tiny spectacles perched on the bridge of his nose and held an equally undersized clipboard. “Name please?”

Essek had no idea what name he was supposed to give. What he was supposed to be going by. A bugbear from Xhorhas would certainly know if he did not give a Kryn name, and he couldn’t ask Caleb beca-

“Widogast.”

The bugbear squinted down at his list and gestured up the gangway. “Enjoy your evening.”

Essek was still more than half certain he was walking to his death. But he was beginning to suspect it might be due to a self induced heart attack. 

There were six tables on the deck, each with two chairs and flickering lights trapped in little floating glass spheres. Essek counted four other obvious pairs on the deck, all looked more or less Concordian by the cut of their clothes. He also saw two goblins dressed in suits that matched the bugbear’s. One of them offered Caleb and Essek wine almost as soon as they boarded. Essek, struggling to rein in his frantic nerves, took a large drink without any preamble. 

Then frowned, looking down at the glass in his hand. “I’ve had this before.”

“Oh?” Caleb asked, poorly feigning surprise. 

Essek scowled at him, and took another indignant drink. “What is going _on?_ ”

“You’ll _see_ , impatient!” Caleb said, nudging him with his elbow. 

Perhaps five minutes later two women, a halfling and a gnome, were let onboard. The bugbear climbed up after them, folding up the gangway after him. The mooring lines were cast off, and the yacht wobbled gently as it was steered out into the bay. A drow came up from below deck, wearing a sleek black dress and her hair in a neat bun at the nape of her neck. Behind her trailed more goblins, carrying chairs and stands, which they began setting up while the drow woman addressed the guests. 

“Welcome, friends,” she said, her accent heavy. Asarian, if Essek had to guess. “My name is Thariss Asmali, and it is my pleasure to welcome you all aboard the _Oromessa_. The vessel upon which you stand, the fare which you will eat and drink, the music you will hear, and all of the people with which you will interact are proud to call the noble country of Xhorhas our home. Xhorhas is our blood. Xhorhas is our love, and it is our pleasure to share that love with you, the good people of the Menagerie Coast. A program is provided for each of you at your seats, but if you have any questions, please do not hesitate to ask. We are at your service.”

Behind her filed out a silent stream of eight individuals, mostly drow, with one each of a hobgoblin, orc, and tiefling, all carrying instruments and black folios. She gestured to them with a smile.

“It is my pleasure to present the Equinox Chamber Ensemble, who will be providing tonight’s entertainment. The first course will be arriving shortly.” She bowed low at the waist, lingering at the ladder for a few more moments while the musicians set up and tuned their instruments. Then, when a lilting, unmistakably drowish melody drifted upon the cool sea air, made a b-line for Essek. Who took another overly large swallow of his very expensive wine and shot a glare at Caleb, before turning to greet her with a carefully assembled smile. Praying first that she did not somehow recognize him, and then praying that she was not disgusted in him for wearing white. 

“ _Well met, sir_ ,” Thariss said, bowing low. Her accent was even more obviously Asarian in Undercommon.

“ _Hello_.” Essek said, nodding his head. 

“ _I am honored you were able to join us. Forgive me, I was not aware I would be hosting a fellow drow tonight, or I would have asked for your feedback on the menu. Do you have any special requests? I will see to it the kitchen makes every effort to accommodate.”_

Essek shook his head, trying to extricate himself from the conversation as quickly as possible. “ _I would not wish to impose. If you believe your menu effectively communicates you love of Xhorhas, I’m sure it will be satisfactory.”_ He realized almost immediately, he sounded far more hostile than he had intended. He didn't have the energy to apologise.

She bowed low once more, “ _Of course. If you have any concerns, please let me know. By the Light.”_

 _“By the Light_ ,” Essek echoed automatically.

She turned to Caleb, “I apologise for stealing your husband.”

Essek glanced at Caleb with a raised eyebrow, but rather than splutter or blush, he simply brought Essek’s hand to his mouth and kissed his knuckles. “Ah, partner. But it is no trouble at all. This is for him.” Something warm and fuzzy settled in Essek’s stomach, bullying at his nerves. 

She smiled, a sort of ‘this is adorable, but I’m far too professional to say anything’ sort of smile. “Of course, please enjoy your evening.” 

“Do you know something I don’t?” Essek asked, once Thariss had gone. 

Caleb laughed, and did sound a little more nervous once he was no longer under immediate public scrutiny. “Ah. Hah. Not a proposal, if that is what you are worried about. I think this event is just… a little fancy, for a casual relationship?”

Essek looked down at his hand in Caleb’s hand, where he could still feel the ghost of Caleb’s mouth. “So you’re saying our relationship isn’t casual, then?” he teased, trying to sound (ironically) more casual than he felt. 

Caleb shrugged, smiling. “I think once you have saved each other from certain death, it’s safe to say that it is not casual.”

“Mh.” Essek looked away, gaze drawn by a familiar tune floating across the ship. He blamed himself for Caleb’s death, but it was an argument they had had many times, and he could never convince Caleb to agree that he was at fault.

Caleb squeezed his hand. “Is this okay?”

“What?”

“All this,” He gestured across the deck. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, I just wanted it to be a surprise. A little bit of home.” 

“I… appreciate it. I do.” Essek rubbed at his arm with a frown. For all that Caleb loved his country, for all of his national pride, even in the face of the Empire’s ugly faults, Essek did not feel the same connection to the Dynasty. He tried. He had tried for years. The sights, the sounds, they were connected to memories, some fond, some less so. But he had never felt a loyalty to the place simply because it was the place of his birth. Had never felt a loyalty to _anything_ , really, before meeting the Nein. “I wish I’d known though, I would have worn something a little less scandalous.”

Caleb cocked his head, “Scandalous how? You look lovely.”

Essek cleared his throat, took stock of the employees, and the guests, and guided Caleb as far away from both as possible. “It is incredibly poor taste, wearing all white if you are not an Umavi. It is a show of station. Of _enlightenment_.”

“Well, it’s not _exactly_ white?”

Grimacing, Essek shrugged, “It is close enough that they would be well within their rights to complain.”

“You are my Umavi,” Caleb said and kissed his forehead, “You are perfect for me.”

Essek half laughed, half gasped, and threw his hand over Caleb’s mouth. “ _Sssshhh._ Don’t say that!” 

Essek could feel Caleb mouthing words behind his palm, and a finger jab into his chest. 

_Or what?_

“Or we’re going to get kicked _out_.”

 _I have a long, proud history of being kicked out of respectable establishments_.

Caleb grinned against his hand and he scowled. “Well, _I_ don’t. And I’d rather not start now, in the middle of the water!”

_Relax._

He looked down when Caleb started fishing something out of his pocket. It was the Queen’s favor. Essek blanched, wrenching his hand off of Caleb’s mouth as he scrambled to grab for it. Caleb tucked it back into whatever ephemeral place he had hidden up his wide sleeves. “I can’t believe you brought that here,” he hissed.

Caleb laughed. “See? They can’t kick us off, I’m a Hero of the Dynasty.”

Essek groaned in exasperation. “You are _ridiculous_. You know that?”

“You love it,” he said, and kissed Essek on the nose. 

“Ugh. And you’re lucky I do.”

A soft bell chimed, and Thariss happily explained the first course, a thick spinach soup, with shallots and snails as goblin servers shuffled around dishes and wine. But Essek was hardly listening. Too caught up in worrying that one, or now both of them might be recognized, the thought of the Queen’s favor sitting half a table away driving him up the wall. 

“I confess,” Caleb said, swallowing hard. He was making the most adorably pained faces, trying to force himself to enjoy the soup. Essek wished he could banish his nerves to enjoy it more. “I do not know that I will ever get used to eating insects.” 

Essek laughed weakly. “Didn’t you know what the menu was when you made reservations? This is an expensive dish to be balking at. We served this in the den on the Days of Light.” 

“It is the texture,” Caleb said. “The taste is fine. But the texture is so bleh.” He made a face, half sticking out his tongue. Essek thought he looked like Jester in that brief moment.

Caleb liked the second course better, a marinated mushroom salad with fiddleheads and farro. He declared the crumbled rothé cheese to be delicious, and wondered whether it would be good on macaroni. Essek shuddered at the thought of such an atrocious misuse of a very fine cheese. 

In his restless, constant observation, Essek noticed the main course, braised garlic ginger rock rat with peanuts, and roasted root vegetables over wild rice, seemed to turn a few noses at the other tables, one human woman in particular was frowning at her plate, looking distinctly constipated, but Caleb didn’t seem to mind it. 

His commentary was kind, and more than once he asked Essek a question that Essek knew was answered on the little program, written in both Common and Undercommon. Would ask Essek a question that Essek knew had been answered by Thariss, about the music, or the menu both. Would ask him about his own customs at home. Whether his family had different traditions than those described by the program.

He knew Caleb was trying to help. Trying to keep his mind off of his nerves. But as delicious and familiar as the food was, as beautiful as the music was, how much like home it _smelled_ , he couldn’t help but watch suspiciously whenever he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. At first he blamed it on his violent banishment. It was no wonder he distrusted Xhorhas, after the justice Xhorhas had wrought. But then, he thought, he had always been like that. He had never felt safe. Not in Xhorhas. Not in his den. Not before-

Caleb nudged his ankle with his shoe. Essek blinked at him. Caleb shrugged, and took another bite of rat.

Essek choked on a mouthful of wine when he felt Caleb stroking the inside of his knee. But both of Caleb’s hands were accounted for, folding his napkin into what Essek assumed was supposed to be a cat, and he was looking at Essek with the blandest, mildest curiosity in the world. 

A finger began drawing runes up his inner thigh. Essek squeaked, and his knee hit the underside of the table. Their silverware clattered sharply in the quiet lull of background music and hushed conversations. The gnome woman cast a glance in their direction. Caleb raised an eyebrow. “Problem?”

Essek smiled tightly. “ _No._ Perfectly. Mh _Fine_.”

“Oh, good,” Caleb said amenably, “You are looking a little peaky. We can leave if you are not feeling well?”

“I’m fi-- hi."

“Hello!” The goblin waiter who had appeared at their table while he was distracted shot him a toothy grin. She whisked away their plates, and another waiter slid in a platter of candied yams and bean buns. Thariss babbled about desserts. Caleb was staring at Essek like he was the one to be consumed, and a finger dragged from Essek’s navel down to his crotch and he stuffed one of the buns into his mouth to keep from making a noise. 

Caleb laughed from behind his wine glass and Essek shot him a withering look. “Are you having fun?”

“Oh, ja. The food is delicious. The show is very nice too,” Essek got the distinct impression he was not referring to the orchestra. “I’m glad we came.”

“I’m sure you are.” Essek bared his teeth in a poor facsimile of a smile, took one of the pieces of yam and flicked it across the table at Caleb. It landed short, plopping down on his plate with a soft splat. Caleb barked out a loud laugh before slapping a hand over his mouth while his shoulders continued to shake. One of the other patrons, an elven man, cast them a sideways glance. Essek shot back a murderous glare and he averted his gaze.

“You’re terrible.” Essek whispered. 

“Maybe, but you’re not worrying anymore.” 

Essek opened his mouth to argue, but realized that he wasn’t wrong. He had been so busy being poked and prodded and throwing food like a child that he’d completely forgotten how restless he’d been. Unwilling to admit as much to Caleb, who already looked like he’d won some battle that Essek hadn’t realized they’d been waging, he shrugged noncommittally. 

Caleb picked up the errant piece of candied yam between two fingers and popped it in his mouth, looking terribly pleased with himself. 

Thariss approached their table, smiling nervously. She leaned over to murmur in Essek’s ear, “ _I’m so sorry to interrupt sir, But would you please ask your human to contain himself? He’s being disruptive to the other guests.”_

Essek glanced between her and Caleb, and realized how stupid it had been to be worried about her. So worried about being found out. This was a restaurant. The biggest disaster they could fathom was Caleb laughing a little too loudly and disturbing other guests. Not that they were hosting the single worst traitor in modern Xhorhassian history, nor that said traitor stole the Umavi’s colors and wore them like a rebel flag. That their other patrons might complain. “Caleb,” he said, spurred on by a rush of irrational, juvenile defiance, “Would you be a dear and show Ms. Asmali the little token Her Radiance gave you?”

Caleb eagerly fished around in his pocket for his medallion. “Don’t worry,” he said, “I am a Hero of the Dynasty.” Caleb brandished the medallion like it was a weapon, and with all the authority of someone who was anything but. 

Theriss blanched. Her spluttering, bemused expression was a thing of unmatched perfection. “Sir. I don’t- We need- You’re-” Everyone was looking at them now. Everyone was staring and Essek didn’t _care_.

“I’m so sorry,” Essek said, but didn’t feel sorry at all. Caleb held out his hand, and Essek took it, laughing in delight as Caleb teleported them off the ship. 

And back to Essek’s room at the Chateau.

“Did you see her _face?!_ ” he cackled, clutching at his chest. 

Caleb wasn’t able to answer, too busy leaning against the wall, giggling so violently his entire body shook. 

Four times the two of them tried to stop laughing. Four times, as soon as they made eye contact, they both broke down into cramp inducing hysterics. Essek was wheezing and gasping for air by the time he calmed himself, tears streaming down his face, his cheeks painful. 

They let out twin sighs of contentment when they finally came down from their fits of laughter. 

Essek wiped at his face, the back of his hand came back smeared with silver and glitter. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for us to leave early. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Caleb wrapped his arms around Essek in a hug that lifted his toes off the ground, and kissed him fondly on the cheek. Essek made a face of token resistance, but awkwardly wrapped his hands as far around Caleb as he could manage. “Are you happy?”

Essek took a moment to consider and then nodded once. “Yes. I am.”

“Then do not be sorry, it was worth it.” Caleb said, pressing their foreheads together. Essek cast his levitation spell when dangling started to become uncomfortable. “Besides. I am pretty sure all that was left was tea. We did not miss much.”

“So. What now that I have ruined your evening?”

“You have not ruined it. I promise. What would you like to do?”

Essek smiled fondly and shook his head. “Coffee? Cards? I wouldn’t want to presume.” 

“Then may I?”

“May you what?”

“Presume.”

“Alright… What would you like to do?”

Caleb gently let go of Essek, and he settled himself gently back upon the floor. Caleb’s expression was guarded, considering. Essek almost thought he looked nervous. “I would very much like to sleep with you tonight.”

“...Like on the ship?” It had become code for them, when either one wanted to spend the night. That they would huddle close, but nothing more. Occasionally they would share a soft kiss before settling in, but that was it. It was safe. No expectations. Nothing to misinterpret, nor be disappointed by. 

“No. Ah…” He was blushing, everything Essek could see, from his neck to his ears, bright red, “Like I would very much like for you to fuck me. If you are amenable. If not I-” 

Caleb was still talking in a nervous rush, but Essek heard none of it, struck by a violent coughing fit when he somehow managed to choke on absolutely nothing but shock . He had selfishly been hoping for a _similar_ sentiment, but the bald, graphic honesty that Caleb presented it with caught him off guard. “You know I’m not- I can’t- I won’t be able to move a lot,” he said, struggling to find an appropriate way to say ‘I’m sorry, I can’t fuck the soul out of you because I was cursed with terrible, painful legs, please don’t be disappointed.’’

Caleb shrugged, unperturbed. “I am sure we can find a work around. Or, I could instead, if you prefer. Or neither of us. I just want to be with you, Essek. I am ready.”

I’m ready. 

How long had Essek been waiting for those words? Certainly that night on the ship, when, if Caleb had let him, he thought he might have run away with the Nein right then. Might have defected and never looked back. Might never have turned himself in. Might never have lost his memories, or his magic. Might never have believed in a power greater than himself. But he wondered if maybe he hadn’t been ready then either. 

That Essek was not a man who worked with a team, was not a man who spoke earnest truths, was not a man who cried. Was not a man who loved. Not really. He had wanted, wanted for himself, and he had called that love. But it had been a selfish love. Now, he thinks, he would give anything to see Caleb smile. To hear him laugh. To feel his scruffy, unshaven jaw. To smell cat fur and brimstone. He would die for him. He would _live_ for him.

“Or, not...” Caleb said, shuffling backwards with slumped shoulders and Essek realised he had been lost in his thoughts for far too long, and left Caleb with the entirely wrong impression.

“No, no. Caleb, get back here. I’m sorry. I was just thinking.” Essek held out his hands, palms up in invitation. 

Caleb reluctantly slid his hands into Essek’s. “What were you thinking about?” 

“Uh. Me, actually. As terrible as that sounds.” He laughed, looking down at their hands, rubbed his thumb over the scar on Caleb’s palm. “Do you remember anything from when you were-” _dead_ “-gone?”

“Like what?”

“Anything. Did you hear anything? See anything?” 

“Maybe you should remind me. If it is important to you.” Caleb said, an edge of _something_ in his voice that cut Essek to his core and left him feeling raw and small. 

“I just- I don’t want to lose you. I don’t know what I would do without you. When you were gone it was like everything that meant anything was gone with you. And I know, I know the Nein all care about me, in their way. I know Verin and I are… we’re working on it. I have both Marion and Yussa I can reach out to. I’m the least alone I’ve been in my entire life, but without you, none of that matters.” 

Caleb took a step towards him, bowing his head so their foreheads were pressed together. “That is lovely. But I don’t think that’s what you said.” 

“What do you think I said then?” Essek asked, just loud enough for Caleb to hear. 

Caleb waited a moment before responding, his expression searching, “I think you promised me a spell.” 

Essek paused, considering. He pulled a small spool of platinum thread out of his components, glistening red in the soft lamplight. “Let me show you again, then.” 

He took Caleb’s hand in his own, and gently wound the thread around Caleb’s wrist. “Until this spell falls, your pain will be my pain. Your hurt will be my hurt.” He wrapped the thread around his own wrist. “A balm to my wounds shall be a balm to yours.” He wrapped the thread around both of their wrists, binding them together, their palms flush. “We shall be bound, and neither time nor space can separate us.”

The thread shimmered and disappeared, but their hands stayed clasped. 

“Ich liebe dich Essek.” 

“I... don’t know what that means.”

Caleb held up their hands and squeezed. “The same thing this does.” 

Essek had never felt the need to be close to someone more earnestly. Had never felt more confident wrapping his arms around someone and pulling them close. Had never wanted so much that he couldn’t name.

They disrobed as if it were a ritual. As if it were a spell shared between them, holy and sacred. As if each article of clothing shed were components doing their part to complete something, the potential for which had always simmered between them and was finally given the opportunity to exist. As if their skin was all that mattered. As if, as they laid each other out on the fine silk sheets, they were instead finishing the exacting circle that would bind magic to their whim.

Essek mapped the scars and freckles on Caleb’s body, tracing the constellations that branded and formed him, that tore him down and built him up. First with his fingers, and then with his mouth. Over soft skin and sharp bone. Each valley and peak was admired with care. 

Caleb threaded his fingers through Essek’s hair, caressed his ears, wrapped his hands in the fine silver chains draped low on Essek’s sternum. Bathed him in reverent psalms praising his radiance.

Essek could almost believe him. Could almost believe, with smeared makeup shimmering on his cheeks, and shimmering chains smeared over his chest that this was the perfection the Luxon spoke of. That this was why, and where, and when he wore white, and held the world in his hands. Because the world lay in bed with him now and worshiped the altar upon which he was presented.

Here there was just Essek and Caleb and their mouths and their bodies, and there was nothing else that mattered. 

Caleb pressed the cool glass of a vial of oil into Essek’s palm, and the uncertainty of reality momentarily resurfaced.

“You’re sure?” Essek asked, “What if I can’t do enough?” 

“Then we will make due,” Caleb said, pressing the vial of oil firmly into Essek’s grasp and folding his fingers around it. “If you do not want to, we do not need to. But there is nothing I would like more than to have you inside me, even if only for a little while.”

“I think… it will work best if you are on the edge of the bed then.”

Caleb kissed him on the cheek. “Whatever you want,” he said, scooting over so that his feet were planted on the floor, he peered up at Essek, and Essek’s chest ached for how sweet he looked. “You cannot disappoint me,” he promised.

Essek slid from the bed, and stood between Caleb’s legs, suddenly feeling terribly awkward and inadequate. But Caleb watched him with such a soft fondness, with no shadow of doubt, nor judgement, that Essek wondered if he had perhaps secretly used the powers of his school to transform Essek into something better. Something of which he did not need to feel ashamed. 

“I… Just a second.” Caleb lifted up his head, quizzically watching Essek as he started casting a spell. The chair from the desk dragged loudly across the floorboards and Essek winced, mouthing ‘sorry’, even as Caleb’s head fell back against the sheets and his shoulders shook in laughter. 

Essek smacked him gently on the thigh. “You hush,” he muttered, sitting down and scooting the chair between Caleb’s legs. 

“I didn’t say anything,” Caleb laughed.

Essek struggled with the oil, jittery with nerves and anticipation. Either oblivious to Essek’s anxiety, or once more attempting to distract him from it, Caleb took himself in hand, humming softly as he waited, and Essek was so enthralled by the sight that he momentarily forgot what he was doing entirely. 

Finally wresting the cork from the vial, Essek poured a generous pool into the palm of his hand, and then, impulsively, poured more over Caleb’s hand as well. Caleb made a small, surprised sound, but languidly smeared the oil between his legs while Essek watched. 

Essek eased one of Caleb’s feet onto the chair next to him, leaving a slick handprint under Caleb’s knee. He should have done that first, before oiling his hands, but was distracted from remorse as Caleb stretched into the new position, shamelessly spreading his legs. The oil on his skin caught the lamplight, highlighting each curve of his body, and he was _gorgeous._ He said as much aloud.

Caleb swore, squirming and desperate as Essek brushed slick fingers over his entrance, an instrument to be played in gentle strokes. “Please,” he said, as much a sigh as a request.

Essek bowed his head to press a kiss to Caleb’s soft stomach, the thatch of auburn curls between his legs, the sharp angle of his hip. He hummed against Caleb’s skin, warm and indulgent, and gently eased his finger into Caleb’s body, and gently eased Caleb’s cock into his mouth. 

His finger slid easily into Caleb, as if they’ve always belonged together. He indulged in a few lazy thrusts, matching them to the movement of his mouth before easing in a second finger. 

Caleb exhaled hard through his nose, biting his lip to stifle a moan. Essek wondered if the walls in the Chateau were sound proof. He curled his fingers, and Caleb descended into a half intelligibile string of indulgent nonsense. 

Essek thought he could linger there forever, slowly working Caleb open, listening to him sigh and murmur his approval. Listening to Caleb whimper brokenly, hiding his face behind his arm when Essek hooked his fingers at the right angle, or swirled his tongue just right. 

“Please, Essek, I’m ready.” Caleb propped himself up on his elbows, and was looking down at Essek with eyes blown dark. Essek reluctantly withdrew his fingers, wiping them thoughtlessly on the sheets, and eased Caleb out of his mouth. 

He stood, pushing the chair out of the way, and poured more oil into his hand, hesitantly stroking himself, trying not to think too hard about what he must look like. 

“You’re beautiful,” Caleb said, smiling lazily up at him. Caleb had to have some power, or Essek was much poorer at masking his emotions than he thought he was. Any time his thoughts wandered towards inadequacy, Caleb was there with a gentle compliment to burn away his doubts. And his expression was always so gentle, and unguarded and _honest_. If honesty could always look like Caleb staring adoringly up at Essek, Essek would never lie again. 

They sighed as one when Essek finally breached Caleb’s body. Essek worked his way deeper in the most careful inches. Caleb’s body yielded easily, ready and eager beneath him, but Essek struggled not to be overwhelmed by the encompassing heat. Of being so fully anchored in proof of his existence. 

And when their hips settled flush against one another, Essek sighed raggedly He didn’t want to move. 

“Are you in pain?” Caleb asked quietly.

“No, I just want this to last.”

Caleb blushed, indignant and defensive. “I’ve been working on it!”

“What? No!” Essek laughed, Caleb shuddered around him. “That’s not what I meant. I just. Let me be with you. Just for a moment?”

“Oh… Ja, okay.”

So they were still together, their bodies one. Essek rested his forehead against Caleb’s sternum, his arms wrapped tight around his middle, counting Caleb’s heartbeats. Caleb wrapped his legs around Essek’s waist and held him close, arms slung around his back, hugging him tight. Essek could feel the weight of Caleb’s gaze even before he craned his neck to look up at his soft expression, his gentle smile. 

“I love your smile,” he murmured, and Caleb smiled all the brighter hearing it. 

If he wasn’t worried about slipping from Caleb’s body, Essek could have been happy staying there all night, falling asleep with their bodies connected. And even risking that, he didn’t mind staying a little while longer, but he couldn’t imagine that was what Caleb had meant, and he didn’t want to completely overshadow his request with unexpected sentimentality. He pressed a kiss to Caleb’s chest as a punctuation, sealing the moment in time. “Are you ready?"

Caleb nodded and squeezed his arms around him a final time before releasing him, “If you are.”

Caleb moved beneath him with a confidence that he didn’t feel. Held him close with a leg slung loosely over his hip, gently helping him forward without being asked to. Essek’s chest clenched with the intimacy of it, of being seen. All his faults and shortcomings, every piece of him that was sharp and difficult. Rather than smooth them over, or cast them aside, Caleb simply picked them up with his clever hands, gave them a name, and a purpose, and accepted them for what they were. 

Essek yearned to do the same for Caleb. Knew that he too was full of broken, sharp pieces, and wanted to be able to name those parts of him, and help him with them without being told. Wanted to be able to tell him with nothing more than a glance that he was beautiful. That he was worthy. That he was loved. 

He bowed his head, pressing soft, worshipful kisses against Caleb’s chest. Wishing all of the things he found himself too overwhelmed to say might somehow be translated through the earnestness of his affection, and the rocking of his hips. 

Caleb was beautiful beneath him, lips parted on a sigh, brows drawn tight in concentration as he shifted his weight to meet Essek with every motion. Essek ran his fingers worshipfully over his skin, marvelling at the subtle little shivers he could produce dragging his nails down his stomach. 

It was starting to hurt. He felt like he had only just begun, and already his legs were protesting. He grit his teeth, trying to ignore it, trying to push through it. To focus on Caleb, and how he felt. How desperately he wanted to give Caleb what he asked for. If he could just-

“Essek?” The soft pads of Caleb’s fingers brushed feather light over his cheek. 

Essek opened eyes that he hadn’t realized he had squeezed closed. “What?”

“You look uncomfortable.”

“I’m fine.” Essek blurted on reflex. He snapped his hips to prove his point, and choked on the flash of pain that followed. “...Maybe I’m not fine,” he admitted reluctantly. “I’m sorry.”

“Essek, mein Schatz, look at me. It’s alright. I don’t want you to hurt yourself. Will you let me try something?”

Essek nodded, reluctantly slipping from Caleb’s body to await instruction. 

Caleb rolled over so that he was laying with his head nestled in the pillows, and spread his arms wide in invitation. Essek slipped into the bed next to him and allowed himself to be enveloped in the warmth of Caleb’s embrace, went pliant beneath him as he gently coaxed Essek from his melancholy with warm, messy kisses that left him sighing. 

Essek wondered if there ever were a pair of lovers who had invented their own language through the nuance of their kisses. If ever someone said ‘I don’t want to be a disappointment’, and was met with ‘you could never disappoint me’. If someone could say ‘I just love you so much, I want this to be perfect’, and could feel in response ‘it already is.’ 

He wondered if he had gone soft, if he thought he might hear those words in the tender dance of their lips, and the yearning push of their tongues. 

Caleb’s weight settled over top of Essek, and he pulled away just far enough to speak. “Is this alright?”

Essek nodded. Caleb was silhouetted against the lantern light, and his hair looked like a halo of fire framing his face. If the Luxon was light, it was the cold, unfeeling light of the night sky, and faraway untouchable stars. This. This was Light. This was boldness and passion, the blinding, overwhelming light of the sun to which Essek was so ill suited but whose gravity he could never escape. 

Caleb wrapped gentle fingers around Essek, and sunk back down onto him. 

If Essek thought Caleb looked like fire before, he was an inferno when he started to move. The light catching on sweat and bone and the smooth curve of flesh left Essek awestruck and breathless, “You’re amazing,” he said, propping himself up on his elbows.

Caleb bowed low, tall enough that even as he rocked his hips he was able to meet Essek in a searing kiss. 

There was nothing soft or slow in the way Caleb moved. He was not precise or calculated. He was hot, and demanding, and free. His expression fey like his cat’s, eyes glinting with a bright ethereal glow in the lantern light, looking at Essek through the curtain of his wild bangs with an intensity that pinned Essek in place like a moth to his flame. 

Caleb wrapped a hand around himself, and pumped in time with the snap of his hips. Essek fumbled to join him, but after a few awkward strokes of them moving their hands in tandem Caleb let go and left the task to Essek while he focused on pushing Essek over the edge with the hot flex of his body.

It was so much. Too much. Caleb above him and around him and in his hands, everything that ever had, or ever might exist, narrowed down into this singularity that was light and fire. “Kiss me,” he begged, ragged and desperate to cease to be the individual motes of Caleb and Essek, to be tangled in the silver filament of _us_.

Caleb banished any hope of rational thought with the possessive swipe of his tongue, claiming Essek’s mouth for his own. Essek snagged a fistful of red hair and pulled, one more anchor point between them. Caleb moaned, and it felt as if his whole body clenched around him, and Essek was _gone_. 

The next thing Essek was consciously aware of was featherlight kisses peppering his cheeks, Caleb brushing sweat slick hair from his face and murmuring words that Essek did not understand. It took Essek a moment longer to realize that there were tears on his face. 

“Are you alright?” Caleb asked, features pinched in worry. 

Essek nodded and wiped his cheek. “I’m fantastic,” he said, laughing wetly. “I don’t know why I’m crying.” 

“Okay,” Caleb settled his hand over top of Essek’s. “As long as you are okay,” he said and started to gingerly ease himself off of Essek.

“Wait- Let me take care of you first.”

Caleb laughed breathlessly and tapped at Essek’s belly, where come painted his skin in white rivulets. “You already did Schatz.” 

“Oh.” Essek frowned. “I didn’t notice.” 

Caleb smiled crookedly. “I will take that as a compliment. May I?” He asked, flexing once more at the knees. Essek nodded bashfully, hissing as Caleb extricated himself. 

Essek held out a hand, and pulled Caleb up next to him. After a cursory cleaning, they quietly arranged themselves until they were a warm, comfortable tangle of heavy limbs. Essek was overcome by the quietest, most blissfully settled feeling of serenity, of _home_ he had ever experienced. He ran his fingers through Caleb’s hair, glowing soft in the lamplight, and Caleb hugged him closer, burying his face against Essek’s neck. 

They lay there, their breath matched in the slow rise and fall of their chests, and Essek imagined that if he were to check, their hearts would be beating in time too. The sweat on their skin grew clammy as the minutes wore on, and Essek had to suppress a shiver. He tugged the comforter up around them with magic, unwilling to disentangle himself. Caleb’s face ended up half buried, and Essek felt the huffing exhale of silent laughter against his skin. 

“Comfortable?” Caleb asked softly. 

Essek kissed his hair, “Very. Are you?”

“Mhmm.”

Silence fell around them once more, as warm and cozy as their comforter, and the flickering lamp light, and Essek thought he might actually be able to fall asleep.

“Caleb?” He whispered, when the night was still around them, and Caleb’s features were soft and lax.

“Ja Essek?” Caleb murmured, his voice rough with exhaustion.

“Ich liebe dich.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys all SO MUCH for sticking with me through this! Your kudos and comments absolutely fill me with joy! It really means a lot how supportive you've been with my first fic! I don't have any specific plans for what I'm doing next, so if anyone has any thoughts or ideas, please feel free to leave them in the comments! Love you all! <3 
> 
> Explicit tags for this chapter: Dry humping, hand jobs, oral, hair pulling, super duper low key size kink if you squint?, topping from the bottom-ish, anal, boys being stupid in love, enthusiastic consent.


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